


The Huntress

by TheLiteraryEscapist



Series: The Argent Chronicles [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 290,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLiteraryEscapist/pseuds/TheLiteraryEscapist
Summary: Beacon Hills is a city which literally draws the supernatural to it. Adrianna is the daughter no one knew Kate Argent had. What happens when she finds out her mother is dead; killed by a werewolf from the old Hale pack? Follow Adrianna Argent, a born hunter, lethal weapon, and struggling demigod as she tries to come to grips with her mother's murder. Will she follow the code or will she follow her heart?
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Chris Argent/Victoria Argent, Isaac Lahey/Original Female Character(s), Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Argent Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059464
Kudos: 16





	1. Omega

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a story I wrote a couple years ago and I'm posting it on here unedited because I'm currently working on the sequel. There are some things that I will change later on, after I've finished the other books in this series, but until then, you need the first book to be able to understand the next ones. Just a note; this story follows season 2 pretty closely, but with the addition of my original character. 
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Vanessa <3

She was sitting down and humming to herself, the tune of a haunted, deadly song, when the letter arrived.

At first, Adrianna Argent, sole daughter of Thanatos, was surprised. She didn’t get very many letters from anyone that wasn’t a god, or related to her in some way—it was the only method of communication that her family ever used with her, seeing as technology was in and of itself, deadly to any demigod.

But, with the frightened young boy who had delivered the letter scampering off as soon as Adrianna made eye contact, she really had no other choice but to set aside her despair and read the damned letter.

There was only so much her family could ask of her, before she realized that she was not loved—only used as a weapon to aid the Argent’s in their tireless pursuit of eradicating every feral supernatural creature to ever walk the earth.

So with a retired sense of dread, Adrianna used her nimble, combat-skilled fingers to rip open the yellowed envelope, taking note of the waxed Argent family seal, and carefully extracted the folded page within.

Most of the letter was blank, and she couldn’t help her disappointment at realizing that—for the millionth time—her succinct, often-times tactlessly strict grandfather would be writing to her, instead of her mother. Though the woman was equally cold to her, Adrianna knew she could tell her mother anything; the same could not be said for her sometimes psychotic grandfather.

Sighing deeply and taking one last glance at the strawberry fields that surrounded her and concealed her from view of the big house, standing resolute and imposing at the bottom of the steep hill, Adrianna directed her attention to the message Gerard Argent went to so much trouble to send her.

The words were carved into the thick, expensive paper with dark black ink and, from the scratches and indents left in the surface, Adrianna could tell that Gerard had used his favourite stylus. _This is important,_ she realized _._ Gerard never used that pen unless the matter was life or death.

Chills raced up Adrianna’s spine, making the once sunny morning seem ominous. A prickling sensation began at the base of her neck, traveling all the way down to the pit of her stomach, signaling that her abilities were activating, but Adrianna paid the warning no mind.

 _“Adrianna Argent,”_ were the first words inscribed in bold at the top of the letter, and she found that, along with the customary sense of disappointment at her grandfather’s lack of fondness towards her, an intense foreboding made her skin crawl. 

The only times that Adrianna ever felt this way, was when death was near.

She took no notice of the way the once blossoming plants were withering and wasting away to nothing but ashes, and the drastic drop in temperature that caused the tree nymphs to take shelter and the butterflies and bees to drop to the ground, frozen solid.

Her breaths were measured, and came out of her mouth in puffs of steam, but with her increasing panic, each inhale became ragged and her lungs never seemed to get enough air.

Staring at her, unsympathetic and boldly callous, were two sentences written by a man that did not familiarize or care at all for their recipient, and the pain that such news would inexorably bring her.

Adrianna’s fingers became stiff and quickly lost their feeling, allowing for the single page and envelope to flutter to the razed soil directly beneath her. All around her, the other campers and various creatures that inhabited Camp Half-blood held their breath in trepidation of the deadly demigod’s reaction.

Her throat bobbed uncomfortably, working to clear the thickness that had settled there but finding that it stayed no matter her efforts. Heat seared the backs of her eyelids and demanded to be extinguished through salty, bitter tears.

There were times when Adrianna came to peace with her gifts, accepting her divergence from others and even, sometimes, finding that she liked it. But now was not one of those times. Now, she felt revulsion towards her father and the curse that he passed on to her.

 _Just once,_ she asked herself, _couldn’t I have had something normal?_

Bitterness and grief tainted her thoughts as she wondered if just this once, she couldn’t have kept the one person that meant the most to her in this world. The woman who had pretended to hate singing her to sleep when she'd had a nightmare, or who'd instructed her how to fire her first gun and hold her first sword.

 _Just once, can't my father permit me to have someone for myself?_ But Adrianna already knew the answer was no. Even her mother, the woman Thanatos struck a bargain with all those years ago, in return for the creation of her life, was not safe. Far from it.

The letter felt like a literal slap in her face, and she had to shake her head to try to clear her blurring vision. It didn’t work, but she refused to wipe her eyes and admit that she was on the brink of bawling hysterically.

Standing on unsteady feet, Adrianna stumbled out of the strawberry fields, her pace quickening with each frightened or wary face she passed, until she slammed into the Hermes cabin door where all of the unclaimed children stayed, along with the actual offspring of Hermes, god of travelers, messengers, and thieves.

All of them gaped at her, as she’d been known to have a fierce temper and after the unfortunate incident with the Stoll twins, involving the summoning of a four-legged hound of hell, no one wanted to cross her again. Especially not when her mood was as thunderous as it was now.

What they didn’t know was that she was just as misunderstood and neglected as them. She wanted their friendship and support just as much as they wanted their parents to claim them. Alas, fear was all she could garner from all but one of them.

Scanning the clearly terrified faces of kids both younger and older than her, Adrianna shut her eyes tightly, fighting the urge to collapse and scream until her throat ached and split open with the force of her grief.

Barging past the crowd, she shoved her way to the back of the cabin until her fingers wound around the rusted, broken doorknob that was meant to enclose the bathroom. Turning the handle violently, Adrianna ignored the curious gaze of one Luke Castellan and slammed the door shut behind her.

Only then, when she was in the safety of an enclosed space, away from prying eyes and ears, did she allow the first of many tears to fall.

Outside, grey clouds as bleak as Adrianna’s anguish coated the sky and concealed the bright, happy sun from view. In the big house, a concerned Centaur recognized the heartbreak of the daughter of Thanatos, while a young man standing just outside Adrianna’s door, began to formulate a way to channel the very daughter of death’s sadness into hatred for the gods.

And it all started because of that letter and those eleven words.

_“Katherine Argent is dead. Your presence is required in Beacon Hills.”_

**#-#-#-#-#**

Terror. Sheer, blind terror was the only thing that Isaac Lahey could feel in that moment besides the terrible, pounding ache in his left eye that was sure to bruise terribly. His long, trembling fingers clutched the edge of the table with a desperation that was not foreign to him, though he wished it was.

It didn’t really matter what had set him off this time, his father had become extremely volatile as of late, so much so that simply speaking aloud could sometimes land Isaac in a heap of trouble. What did matter was that he was _angry_ , and when Isaac’s father was angry, only terrible things could follow.

“What do you mean you have some homework to do first?” His father questioned through gritted teeth, sounding closer to an animal than a man, as he shook out the hand he’d just used to punch his own son.

Ah yes, now Isaac remembered what had gotten him into this situation. Not that it could be said that it was his fault his teachers had all, simultaneously decided to bury him in homework, or that his father also expected him to work in the graveyard the very same night.

“I just,” Isaac started, before realizing that he should have just kept his mouth shut. But he also knew how much his father hated it when he didn’t finish what he was saying, so, despite the imminent danger, Isaac forced himself to continue.

“It doesn’t matter. I can do it after.” He said in an audible, barely quivering voice. Isaac had learned a long time ago that the more he showed his fear, the worse the beating got. That didn't mean it was any easier to act brave.

Narrowing his eyes, his father took a moment to determine whether Isaac was lying to him in order to get out of a punishment. Silently hoping that the man would just let him go without hurting him any further, Isaac’s prayers were answered when his father simply grunted noncommittally before waving his hand towards the door.

“Off you go then.” He told him, sitting back down at the kitchen table and taking a fairly large gulp out of the mug of spiked coffee he had been drinking before the argument.

Surprise and relief made Isaac spring to his feet faster than normal, and he instantly regretted it when his vision swam before him. Stumbling as black dots invaded his vision, he reached a hand out blindly for support and was grateful when his fingers met with the rough, dented texture of the nearby wall.

It was thus with a pounding heart and thankful mind that Isaac found himself sitting in the uncomfortable, worn out seat of his father's ancient backhoe, digging the grave for yet another dead person who'd had the pleasure of escaping a world that Isaac often found himself comparing to hell.

With enormous, grating movements, the machine tirelessly worked to remove shovel after shovel-full of dirt per Isaac's exact and experienced movements at the helm. When he'd been younger and his family was still complete, his father had allowed him to sit on his lap and operate the backhoe. Then, it had seemed like a great honour, but now, without his proud mother and brother watching, it was just another chore he had to finish before he could finally get to sleep.

Pressing a tentative few fingers to his rapidly swelling and no doubt blackening eye, Isaac could not contain the wince and harsh hiss that slipped past him in response. This time, his father had gotten him good. Usually he was too drunk to properly hit him, but tonight he'd been sober enough to actually do a great deal of damage.

Glancing in the chipped, thoroughly stained mirror that barely hung onto the backhoe after quite a few crashes, thanks to Isaac's previous attempts at operating it when he was younger and more afraid, the reality of his situation stared back at him through his own, almost unrecognizable face.

He idly wondered if he was the only kid to have to deal with things far greater than themselves. He mentally went through a list in his head, but found that for most of his classmates, life was a proverbial cakewalk. They didn't have to worry about what their punishment would be if they got a bad grade, or if their dad would decide to lock them in a freezer for the night.

Just at the thought of the noisy chains and bloody fingernails he always got from scratching at the door, Isaac felt a shiver race up his spine. It was very dark out but the light he'd set up to work by was bright enough for him to make out a large something moving quickly nearby.

Furrowing his brows, Isaac stopped digging, leaning forward in his seat to see if he could get a better look at the thing; half hoping it would just be a stray coyote and he'd later kick himself for getting so worked up. 

In a flash of bulky shadows, the thing launched past again, but this time, Isaac could hear it's paws trampling across the ground and it's ragged breathing hitching every now and then in a snarl.

“What the hell?” He asked himself, trying to think of a possible explanation to what he was seeing and hearing. For all his years working late at night, digging graves, he'd never encountered a creature like this.

It almost sounded like a feral wolf, but then, it was the size of a man.

As he tried to puzzle out the mystery, the animal continued to pass by him. Each time it did so, Isaac's fear began to grow as he realized that the thing was circling him, like a hunter often did to it's prey; like he'd seen his own father do to him.

With a sharp crash, the stage light providing a sense of security to Isaac toppled to the ground, shattering the bulb on impact. Whirling around to try to locate the creature through the darkness, Isaac felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach that remained unidentified until the backhoe groaned and fell on it's side, trapping Isaac in the half finished grave he'd been digging moments ago.

Terror like he'd always felt when confined in a small space grabbed hold of his leaping heart and _squeezed_. Scrambling on all fours, Isaac backed himself against the slightly damp wall of earth and prayed to a god he'd thought that he'd lost faith in a long time ago, for salvation from this monster.

As the growling and clawing came closer, Isaac refused to shut his eyes, bravely preparing to face his end at the hands of something rabid and vengeful. But then, as the seconds ticked by, Isaac found that nothing happened.

Silence stretched for the longest time, allowing Isaac's heartbeats to pound against his ears and his pulse to thump lividly in his chest. His palms began to sweat nervously and his breathing remained shallow, just in case the thing was still out there.

Not even a minute later, the sounds of metal protesting and stretching, infiltrated the dark quiet, as the backhoe began to lift up into the air, away from where it had fallen over top of the grave Isaac was trapped in.

Covering his head with his arm to shield the bright glare from the apparently not broken lamp, Isaac stared in confusion at the man standing over him. He recognized him, of course. Who in Beacon Hills, after the manhunt that occurred just last year, didn't recognize Derek Hale? What he didn't understand, was how the dark haired man could have possibly moved the backhoe, which easily weighed over a thousand pounds.

Slowly, Isaac's arm lowered with the realization that Derek Hale wasn't here to hurt him. Extending his hand, the man in question smirked slightly, as though he could smell the boy's fear.

“Need a hand?” He asked.

**#-#-#-#-#**

With a fierce, bone shuddering crash, Adrianna's sword slammed into that of her opponent's, nearly knocking them off balance and sending them toppling to the ground. If it weren't for the fact that Luke Castellan was such a great swordsman, the girl might have had reason to be worried, but as it was, she simply stepped aside and circled him as he pretended to catch his breath.

“Getting tired already?” She taunted mercilessly, sneering with her teeth in the best impersonation of a hell hound that Luke had ever seen. “Because when this age's best swordsman asked me to duel, I have to say, I was expecting more.”

Laughing under his breath, Luke couldn't contain the mischievous smirk that tugged at his askew lips. As he did so, the scar running down the side of his face tugged gently, in reminder of all that the gods had taken from him and the reason why he had to tolerate the daughter of Thanatos' cruel goading.

Not that he minded. If he was being honest with himself, it had been far too long since anyone had had the courage to be snide with him since his failed quest. Even Annabeth, who was practically a sister to him, seemed to find it hard not to approach him with anything but caution.

Adrianna Argent was different.

She was cruel, angry, and a damn good fighter. All things that Luke could relate to, but she was also kind, gentle, and quite fragile, when he'd had the chance to spy on her during more private moments. As her impeccable footwork moved around him, he couldn't help but think that she was just as broken and agonized as he was, deep down.

All that he needed to do, was to get her to admit it, which, if he continued to have such a hard time talking with her, would be a greater challenge than he'd been expecting.

Words continued to flutter around his mind and distract from his strategy, so he did the only thing he knew to do in such a situation and attacked her, unprepared, or as unprepared as an experienced fighter like Luke could get.

Their swords clanged together loudly once more and Luke took a large step closer to the brown haired girl's lithe, surprisingly strong body, in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

“I'm just warming up.” He hissed between clenched teeth. “You're much stronger than I thought you'd be.” He admitted, pleased to see a strained smile curl her blood red lips.

“You're not so bad yourself.” She teased, but for all her bravado, Luke could see the classic signs of fatigue in her gracefulness.

A bead of sweat collected at her brow line and snaked it's way down the side of her face, ending at her sharp jaw and then dripping out of sight. Luke himself could feel moisture prickling at the back of his neck, but his pride refused to be wounded by wiping it away, so he dealt with the slippery mass by ignoring it for the time being.

Swords still locked, Adrianna was the first to crack as she bent her dominant arm and directed her broadsword into a side slash that Luke barely had enough time to deflect. Swinging his new sword backbiter into a wide arc, Luke was pleased to see Adrianna absorb the shock of his momentum by moving with the swing in an improvised somersault.

He'd only seen a handful of people that had the ability and knowledge to do that, and one of them was dead. The mere thought of Thalia rattled the box of emotions he'd kept hidden for years and threatened to unleash all of them at once.

Sheer stubbornness and bubbling hatred were the only things that kept them in check, tightly locked away. Quickly rearranging his features, Luke continued to parry and strike at the girl only a handful of years younger than him, with nearly the same talent, hoping that she wasn't as good at reading people as she was at fighting them.

Yet, Luke had learned a long time ago that his luck was rotten and the gods hated him, so of course she noticed.

“Everything alright there, Castellan?” She questioned offhandedly, trying to appear casual. If the teasing bite hadn't disappeared from her voice, Luke might have been fooled.

Nodding his head in affirmation, Luke slashed at an opening in Adrianna's defenses but couldn't reach her as she quickly bounced back on the balls of her feet. Brows and face set in determination and concentration, Luke's own fierceness gave away his instability.

“Who was she?” Adrianna asked, narrowly dodging Luke's cleverly placed foot, which was meant to trip her, and responding with a twirl and jab of her own.

“I'm sorry?” Luke, shot back, trying his best to appear confused. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Her frustration was almost palpable as she rolled her eyes dramatically, effortlessly stepping into Luke's next attack and elbowing him in the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment.

“Drop the innocent act.” She practically commanded him, absently gliding a hand through her dampened hair. “I can smell the grief you're trying to hide. Someone you loved died; a girl. So who was she?” Adrianna asked again, more forcefully as Luke bent over to assuage his throbbing chest and eyed her analytically.

“What do you mean you can smell my grief?” He defensively asked, squaring his shoulders to continue the duel, but finding that he'd rather continue the conversation. “I thought children of minor gods didn't get a lot of powers.”

Scoffing in an unrepentant manner, Adrianna shrugged her shoulders, twirling her heavy sword with a practiced ease that both impressed and troubled Luke. For all his years at camp, he'd never seen anyone who fought quite like death's daughter. It made him wonder if she had found her training elsewhere.

“Children of minor gods don't usually get a lot of powers,” She agreed with him, lazily blocking his sword by holding her own steady, perpendicular to her back. “But then again, not many minor gods claim their children, so there's really no way to tell.”

Finally, something he could work with. Pouncing on the opportunity, Luke nearly lost a few fingers as Adrianna's attacks suddenly became more energized, almost frantic slashes and parries; as though she wasn't even tired.

“Don't you think it's wrong that the gods can get away with that?” He asked her, stepping up his game to match hers with the same degree of fluid resoluteness. “They can do whatever they want, to whoever they want, and no one holds them accountable.”

One of his attacks managed to slice into Adrianna's shoulder, which immediately began seeping bright red blood. The mere sight of it made him slightly anxious, as it was deeper than he'd meant to cut her, but Adrianna hardly paid it any mind.

If it weren't for the obvious blood and the sudden paleness of her face, he wouldn't have been able to tell that she was injured pretty badly, at all.

“They're gods, Luke.” She spoke, her voice minutely strained. “Even if I wanted to hold them accountable, there'd be no way to do so without drawing their full wrath down upon myself. I don't know about you, but I quite like having the full use of all my limbs.”

Laughing derisively, Luke chose to end the duel, dropping his defenses slightly in order to draw Adrianna into a false win, before hooking her sword with his and twisting it to the side in a disarming technique that he'd just recently taught some of the other, younger campers.

It was a move that almost always worked on others, but that Luke himself had learned to deflect, with the exception of Percy Jackson, who'd been able to disarm him during his first lesson. But that had just been beginner's luck, as some of the others had said, and it worked on Adrianna flawlessly.

With a jarring clatter, her heavy broadsword fell from her grip, onto the arena's compacted gravel turf, and announced his victory.

Smiling lopsidedly in his father's trademark way, Luke arrogantly held up his sword to the girl's sweaty throat. Raising his eyebrows mockingly, he couldn't help himself from returning the favour and teasing her back.

“I think I've won,” He told her, not privy to the spark of anger alighted within Adrianna's eyes and what it might mean for him. “How about I get my reward now?”

“Alright.” She agreed, surprising Luke with her lack of protest.

Then both her arms shot forward with lightning speed, enclosing around Luke's already lowering sword in a clap of sorts that released a shock wave like none other Luke had ever felt.

His skin prickled and tingled all over and the muscles twitched and fought for control, only to ultimately lose as he was forced to drop his own sword. What appeared to be black ashes encircled Luke's arm, burrowing beneath the skin and creating an anaesthetic like numbness in the limb.

Eyes wide and fearful, Luke took a confused step back, staring in awe between his unusable arm and back to the ostensibly innocent girl that inflicted the damage upon him.

“I know what you want from me.” She spoke with conviction, giving Luke more time to formulate a response of some kind. “I agree with you entirely.” She said, lifting Luke's hopes of converting her to his side of the oncoming war. “But at the same time, I can't understand why you would join sides with a Titan.”

Cold water seemed to have been poured down Luke's spine, reminding him of what it felt like the first time Kronos visited him in his dreams. To have felt something so powerful from a demigod, only cemented Luke's desire to win her over as an ally.

“There was no one else who had the courage to stand up to them.” He explained himself. “Kronos might have a history, but so do the other gods.” He continued, ignoring Adrianna's incredulous snort at the immense understatement. “No more unclaimed campers, no more _lost kids._ ”

All traces of mirth drained from her face with those last words, and all at once, Luke knew that he had her hooked. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned, unclaimed, and unloved by those who where your own family. She would help him defeat the tyrannical rule of the Olympians, he was sure of it.

“There is an order to everything, Luke.” She answered softly, so unlike the passion she'd displayed fighting him mere minutes ago. “There is a pattern to the world and it always repeats itself. I know the gods should be stopped—held responsible for their actions—everyone does, but throughout history, demigods who haven't sided with the Olympians have always met tragic ends.”

Reaching out unabashedly, Adrianna retrieved his sword and placed it in his hand, keeping her own, chilly palms wrapped around his steady, calloused one.

“The sword he gave you, though it fits in your grip and follows your commands, does not belong to you. It vibrates with god-power and that sort of energy only ever ends as a curse.”

Fingers slipping away, the numbness faded from Luke's arm and he was able to firmly grasp backbiter, unafraid of dropping it. Adrianna's concern for him stirred up something dormant in him, something he'd only ever felt around Hermes, and he didn't like it.

“Thanks for the warning, but I think I'd rather risk my life fighting to change things, than die on the whim of an uncontrollable, irresponsible god.” Luke quipped acidly, hiding beneath the many layers of emotional armour he'd constructed over the years.

“Suit yourself.” Adrianna shot back, not missing a beat on the turn their conversation had taken. “At least now no one can say that I didn't try to stop you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He retorted, desperately trying to get a handle over his tongue, but finding that something about the daughter of Thanatos made it impossible for him to be anything other than himself.

“Goodbye, Luke.” She said quietly, a small, sad smile pulling at her lips as she surged forward and kissed his scarred cheek. “Don't do anything stupid.”

And then she turned around and left the son of Hermes to himself, her insistent warning still ringing in his ears. He took to hacking at the straw dummies to relieve the tense knot in his stomach, but no matter what he did, the untouched six-pack of Cola's sitting under the first row of benches taunted him.

 _Is she right?_ Luke asked himself. _Could the path that I've chosen to take, lead me to my inevitable death?_

Before he could dwell too long on the answers to those questions, Percy Jackson walked into the arena and Luke knew what he had to do. Stopping mid-swing and turning around, he smiled at the twelve year old who had retrieved Zeus' master bolt, the very same bolt Luke had stolen in the first place, and wiped the sweat off his brow.

“Percy,” He greeted casually, trying to dismiss Adrianna's concerned voice from his mind.

"Um, sorry," Percy said, embarrassed to have been caught interrupting Luke's rather aggressive assault. "I just-" He started to explain, only to be cut off.

"It's okay," Luke found himself saying, lowering his sword. "Just doing some last-minute practice."

He wished that he could have gathered the courage to listen to the Argent girl, but then, Percy smiled, and he knew that it would only be too easy to kill him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Sheriff Stilinski breathed a deep, tension filled sigh as he clambered out of his car and began the march towards the cemetery where a supposed grave robbery had taken place last night. How someone that twisted in their heart and their head was still out and about in society, he didn't know, but what he did was that he and his deputies would do everything they could to change that.

There had been too much weird in Beacon Hills as of late, so of course, he prepared himself for the possibility that he'd be rendered stupefied and utterly clueless when he actually managed to speak with the witness and determine what exactly had happened.

When the K—9 unit had stumbled upon the site, they hadn't given him much information to go on besides that there was an open grave and that the dogs had sniffed out Lydia Martin's scent around the tarnished grave.

As he passed headstones that all looked the same and his boots squelched over the dewy grass, Sheriff Stilinski couldn't help but hope that nothing out of the ordinary would be uncovered and—if he was lucky—his team would be able to uncover more leads as to where Lydia was.

Besides, everything seemed normal. Although over the lifetime he'd spent in Beacon Hills, he'd learned never to trust appearances alone.

Approaching the small mass of people standing near the cordoned off grave, Sheriff Stilinski took a moment to speak with the deputies on hand in order to try to make some more sense out of what he had to deal with and where his witness was.

“Romero,” He addressed the woman kneeling down by the side of the grave, taking a swab of the coffin lid to dust for prints or other things. “What have we got.”

Looking over her shoulder at him, the young woman no older than twenty and—if his memory served him right—fresh out of training, hastily stood. “Grave robbery, sir.” She replied nervously. “The team came here a little past midnight last night and stumbled on the unearthed grave.” She added uncertainly, wringing her hands in front of her.

“Good,” Stilinski hummed thoughtfully, feeling as though he didn't need to inform her that he already knew everything she'd just told him. It was probably just the stresses of having to perform in a totally new job and environment. He remembered when he'd first started as Sheriff; the pressure wasn't easy to deal with.

“Do I have a witness?” He asked instead, looking around as though trying to spot the man or woman in the flurry of deputies.

Pressing her lips together, Romero nodded her head towards a point behind the Sheriff's back. “The kid and his dad are over there.” She informed him, this time more confidently. “It's the kid you want to talk to. Supposedly, he saw everything.”

Raising his eyebrows pensively, Stilinski clapped the deputy on the shoulder lightly and said, “Keep up the good work, Romero.” before turning and making his way towards the pair of men that were standing off to the side of the grave.

“Hi there,” He begun. “I'm Sheriff Stilinski and I'm going to need to ask you some questions. Which one of you witnessed the robbery?”

The older man with small spectacles and thinning, grey hair, whom Stilinski assumed to be the father, jostled the younger man beside him with a sharp elbow. “That'd be him.” He answered gruffly for the curly haired teen.

He couldn't have been any older than Stilinski's own son and yet, there was none of that youthful energy Stilinski had come to associate with teenagers. Perhaps it was just because Stiles was, and always had been, hyperactive compared to others. Still, the uneasiness formed a small pit of worry in the Sheriff's gut. Something wasn't right.

“What's your name, son?” He found himself asking as he tried to peer into the downcast eyes of the youth before him.

“It's Lahey.” The boy answered quietly. “Isaac Lahey.”

“You work for your father, Isaac?” The Sheriff pressed, trying his best to help the teen out of his shell so that he could get some decent answers to his open-ended questions.

“When he's not in school.” Mr. Lahey interrupted sourly, with a twist to his lips that was stuck between a pout and a sneer. “Which is where he needs to be in twenty minutes.” The man pointed out rather hostilely.

Already, the Sheriff knew he didn't like Mr. Lahey, but for the sake of his investigation, he put aside his own misgivings and continued his line of questioning.

“Yeah, I understand that. But I've got a missing teenage girl and our K—9 unit led us here.” The Sheriff informed the uncooperative man sternly, with the intent of getting the seriousness of the situation across to the stalwart man. “She's not wearing any clothes and if she's out here tonight and the temperature really drops—” He let the sentence hang; even he didn't want to think about what might happen.

“I'm sorry,” The boy muttered apologetically, hunching his shoulders slightly to lessen his towering height. “I- I didn't see anything.” He stuttered, this time managing to look the Sheriff in the eyes, if only for a few moments.

“Trust me,” Mr. Lahey chuckled rudely. “If he saw a naked girl outside a computer screen, he'd remember.”

An embarrassed blush coloured the boy's pale cheeks and Stilinski barely had time to make out the purple and yellow shadow encircling the teen's left eye, before the boy lowered his head once more. _No wonder he doesn't want to look straight at me,_ the Sheriff understood.

Glancing between the arrogant tilt of Mr. Lahey's chin along with the obvious violence in his quickly irritable tone, and the shy, almost frightened young man standing beside him, Sheriff Stilinski found anger bubbling in his gut as he guessed as to what the discord was between the pair.

“How'd you get that black eye, Isaac?” He questioned, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when Mr. Lahey's expression became more guarded and the man's glare on him narrowed.

“School.” The boy answered robotically, shifting from one foot to the other.

Tilting his head to the side in interest, the Sheriff furrowed his brows curiously. “School fight?” He asked, a little incredulous. He didn't beleive that a reserved young man like Isaac would partake in such a thing, but then again, he'd been wrong before.

“Nah,” Isaac tersely replied. “Lacrosse.”

The tension was nearly palpable now. Stilinski knew he'd hit a nerve, but could only hope that the father wouldn't intervene before he could get enough information out of Isaac to at least base his theory.

“Lacrosse?” He continued conversationally. “You play for Beacon Hills?”

“Yeah.” Isaac answered with a hint of a smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards.

“My son plays for the team.” The Sheriff retorted, before realizing that that wasn't exactly true. “Well, I mean, he—he's on the team.” He admitted, a bit embarrassed. “He doesn't typically play. Not yet, anyway. It's, uh—something wrong, Isaac?”

The boy had gone deathly pale and a cold sweat seemed to be breaking out across his brow. Stilinski wondered what could have brought about such a reaction. It hadn't been Mr. Lahey because the Sheriff had made sure to keep an eye on him and he hadn't done anything other than scowl for the last five minutes.

“No.” Isaac replied defensively. “Oh no, sorry. I was just remembering, I actually have a morning practice to get to.” He ammended, flitting his eyes this way and that in the way Stilinski knew that liars often unconsiously did.

“Just one more question,” He affirmed, switching his concentration from the family's problems he shouldn't have been meddling with in the first place, and towards the pile of dirt surrounding the open hole in the earth that guarded the casket. “You guys get many grave robberies here?”

“A few.” Isaac answered, more calm now that the previous topic had been dropped. “Usually, they just take stuff like jewelery.”

“What'd this one take?” The Sheriff asked, crossing his fingers that his day would remain normal and that he wouldn't have to deal with anything crazy.

“Her liver.” Isaac replied.

Sheriff Stilinksi sighed. It looked like there was more than enough crazy to go around, including cannibal grave robbers. Would his job ever be easy?

**#-#-#-#-#**

Sitting with her back rigidly straight against the supple, dark brown leather that adorned the seats and much of everything else in the car, Adrianna nervously clenched her hands into fists for the hundredth time. By now, her fingers were beginning to go numb from blood loss, but she hardly noticed.

This was it. Today was the day she'd been dreading for weeks. Conversely, it was also the day that she'd been anticipating for an equally long time; since news of the death of her mother had reached her.

Squeaking shrilly, the brakes of the vehicle obeyed the ex-military hunter that had been tasked with driving her all the way from Long Island, New York, to Beacon Hills, California. Suffice it to say, she was thoroughly tired of driving with nothing to do and the annoyingly familiar squeak was nearly enough to drive her off the edge.

To top it all off, her ADHD had made the entire trip practically nightmarish and her nervous anticipation of meeting her grandfather, after nearly three whole years of estrangement, was making her even more jittery.

The driver shut off the car's engine and got out of his seat, not bothering with a goodbye of any sort. Adrianna and he had not gotten along very well, although, it couldn't exactly be said that it was her fault they had to switch cars twice due to unexpected events that caused the previous vehicles to meet their sudden demises.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute, painfully bashing into her rib cage and making her feel as though her entire body was alight with flames. No, she knew that wasn't what this felt like. She'd been burned before—as a part of her training to become a better hunter, the _best_ hunter, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than a simple flush of blood and nerves.

Nimble, scarred fingers accustomed to setting up trip wires and pulling triggers permitted her exit from the vehicle and smoothed their way through her tangled hair as she was readily assaulted by camera flashes and bombarding questions.

Ahead of her, she could see the congregation of mourners surrounding Kate's snow white casket, gleaming in the cloudy brightness of the fall afternoon. Among them was Gerard, who—despite a few more wrinkles and white hair—looked exactly as he did three years ago.

She took deep breaths so that she would have the strength to part the sea of reporters without inflicting bodily harm on any of them. Other than a few trampled toes and broken cameras, Adrianna would have said that she did quite well. What her grandfather thought was a different story.

The experienced hunter rose from his seat next to a girl similar in age to Adrianna, with the same dark hair and pale complexion, but not the blue or green eyes that Adrianna knew to be a specific trait of an Argent. She must have inherited the doe-like brown orbs from her mother—who was sitting three chairs down from Gerard, next to her husband—Victoria.

“Adrianna,” Gerard greeted, clapping her on the shoulder supportively. She hadn't noticed him approaching her. Not many people could sneak up on her like that. Sometimes she forgot not to underestimate her grandfather. “It's so nice to see you again after the years you've spent away.” His voice was dripping with sweetness that the cunning girl knew would not be present if they didn't have an audience. “Have a seat.” He instructed, putting excess pressure on her shoulder in order to steer her in the direction of the empty seat next to his.

Her legs folded beneath her without much difficulty and once she was seated, Adrianna found that her courage returned to her. Enough so for her to find her tongue and respond.

“What will be done of Kate's death?” She asked in a mere whisper. Judging by the unchanged expressions of those around her, none of her other relatives present heard her.

Gerard's expression became stormy as he looked out to his daughter's casket. Adrianna noticed that he ignored the curious glances the girl opposite him—which she could only guess to be Chris and Victoria's daughter Allison—and refused to introduce the two, instead, grabbing hold of Adrianna's hand and squeezing tightly.

“There will be hell to pay, Adrianna.” He replied just as quietly. “I can promise you that.”

A fluttering sensation began to lift in her gut and a tingling awareness pulled at the base of her spine, similar to the way she often reacted when a monster was nearby or a battle was just over the crest of the next hill.

Her eyes set themselves on the casket of her mother as it was lowered into the soil. For all the terrible, murderous, unfeeling things Kate had done to her and others, Adrianna still found that tiny pit of love buried deep within her heart for the woman.

She squeezed Gerard's hand just as tightly as tears began to rip across her porcelain cheeks. She missed the way her grandfather smiled smugly upon the realization that his niece trusted him.

It was the first mistake Adrianna Argent made in Beacon Hills. It would not be the last.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Standing behind a large boulder in the Beacon Hills Preserve, only a few miles from Lookout Point, Derek Hale watched silently as the Argent hunting party scoured the surrounding forest, looking for werewolves.

Derek felt hatred bubble in his gut and it made his normally sky blue eyes flare with ruby light. It hadn't always been like this between him and the Argent's. At one point, although he admitted now that he had been manipulated under Kate's influence, he had come to tolerate—even respect the family of hunters.

Those sentiments perished on the day Kate burned his home, and all those within it, to the ground. Children, humans, and werewolves alike died on that day. All except for Derek, his sister Laura, and his uncle Peter; both of which were dead now, one of which he'd killed himself.

His fingers twitched and his claws extended at the thought of slashing his uncle's throat to ribbons, especially after he'd learned that Peter was the one to kill Laura—all for the power that ran through her blood; the power of an alpha.

Derek could see the appeal now that he was an alpha himself, but he still couldn't forgive his psychotic uncle for murdering his own niece, no matter the older man's reasons.

Loud, clumsy footsteps intruded his thoughts and he smothered a loud, tired sigh when the distinct scent of none other than Scott McCall, accompanied by an unidentified werewolf, filtered through his nose. That kid really didn't know how to keep himself out of trouble.

The other hunters hadn't yet noticed the disturbance some fifty meters away and closing, and Derek thanked his undependable luck that Chris and Gerard weren't in the area right then. He doubted a newbie Beta like McCall could last long around the experienced hunters of the family.

Glancing around himself to verify that he was safely out of sight of the other hunters, Derek crept forward stealthily, hiding himself behind trees and being careful not to step over any twigs or fallen branches. As the noise and smell of Scott and the other werewolf—which Derek now realized to likely be an omega—intensified with their shrinking distance, he quickly stuck out his arm and braced himself for the inevitably jarring impact of one clumsy, stupid, McCall.

The boy groaned as he barreled chest first into the outstretched arm, but Derek held his ground, quickly placing both hands across each of Scott's shoulders in order to shove the Beta behind a tree that was large enough and sheathed in enough shadows to shelter them both. 

The omega Derek didn't help, was not so lucky. The grungy, probably home-less werewolf shot straight through the clearing, just to the right of the hunting party Derek had been watching, and foolishly trampled straight through a trip wire, which immediately sprung the trap that hung the unfortunate werewolf in the air, upside down, with nothing but his right leg to support his entire body weight.

As Scott's struggles increased, Derek grunted deep in his throat, more annoyed than anything else at the boy's fruitless efforts to free himself. Didn't he know that he could never overpower Derek now that he was an alpha and Scott was still a beta?

“Wait! Stop!” The frantic McCall shouted loudly, much to Derek's chagrin. “What are you doing? I can help him.”

Sighing through his nose frustratedly, Derek once more pushed on Scott's shoulders, this time with more force, and slammed him against the bark of the tree behind which they were hiding.

“They're already here.” He hissed under his breath, angry as always.

“I can help him!” Scott insisted only to be cut off by Derek, who was silently fuming at this point.

“Quiet!” He commanded, more barbs and warnings posed on the tip of his tongue but held back as he thought better of it. Having a screaming match only a few meters away from Beacon Hill's—and probably the world's—most deadly family of hunters would not be a good idea, to say the least of it.

“Who are you?” Chris Argent's voice interrogated the omega in the clearing. “What are you doing here?”

From Derek's vantage, he could make out about fifteen hunters armed to the teeth, including Chris, Gerard, and a dark haired woman he'd never seen before. There was something familiar about her that Derek couldn't place and only the omega's whining voice and the hurried heartbeat beneath his fingers brought him back to the present, with his own frightened beta, Scott.

“Nothing.” The omega promised pathetically, no doubt scared out of his wits. “Nothing, I swear.”

Unsatisfied with the answer, Chris marched forth, closer to the suspended werewolf and peered curiously into the man's glowing blue eyes. “You're not from here, are you?” He asked him conversationally.

The omega was either just as stupid as Scott was, or shocked into silence, because he did not answer the question. Derek felt a twinge of sympathy for the werewolf. He knew what it was like to be hunted like a feral beast by the likes of the Argent's.

“Are you?!” Chris roared suddenly, now demanding the answer he'd previously asked for.

“No.” The omega skittishly agreed. “No, I came—I came looking for the Alpha.” He stuttered out. “I heard he was here. That's all. Look I didn't do anything.” He pleaded. “I didn't hurt anyone. No one living. He wasn't alive in the ambulance. He wasn't, I swear.”

Gerard Argent smiled condescendingly at the werewolf, before addressing the crowd of hunters around him. “Gentlemen!” He called loudly, before turning to his side and tilting his head towards the dark haired woman Derek had noticed before. “-And Lady.” He amended. “Take a look at a rare sight. You want to tell them what we've caught?” He asked the woman, who, upon closer inspection, Derek realized to be a girl of about Scott's age.

The sixteen-year-old stepped forward so that her outline was illuminated by the full moon hanging precariously in the midnight black sky. Attached to the back of her torn and frayed leather jacket, which was even more familiar to Derek than the girl herself, was a four foot long, gleaming silver broadsword, sheathed by a leather scabbard that looked custom made.

Her very presence felt like deja-vu to Derek; like he'd seen her somewhere else before. The girl's stance widened as she appraised the hunter's prey, looking for an answer to Gerard's question.

It only took her a moment before she responded in a voice stuck somewhere between a raspy southern drawl and a silver-tongued, honey-voiced New-Yorker. “An omega.” She confidently answered. Her long, nimble fingers twitched at her sides and gave Derek the impression that she was just itching to use the deadly weapon strapped to her back on the specimen before her.

“Very good, Adrianna.” Gerard praised the girl—apparently his new hunter protege. “An omega is the lone wolf!” He expanded. “Possibly kicked out of his own pack, or the survivor of a pack that was hunted down; maybe even murdered; and possibly alone by his own choice. Certainly not a wise choice.” He intoned, his voice getting louder the longer he spoke.

The sick bastard was probably enjoying the terror he was causing the omega werewolf, Derek surmised bitterly.

“Because, as I am about to demonstrate—an omega rarely survives on his own.” Gerard continued his rant, oblivious to the two werewolves watching from just beyond the clearing.

The oldest Argent nodded his head towards the young girl—Adrianna—and upon the silent order, she reached behind her and drew forth the wickedly sharp sword that had been hidden from sight until then.

He felt more than saw Scott struggling to turn his face away, as the girl approached the omega with murder glinting in her eyes. Although he found himself wondering whether the girl actually had it in her, he refused to allow Scott the luxury of ignoring the reality of his life as a werewolf.

“Look, look.” He prompted the boy, whose eyes still flitted about the forest and avoided the scene. “Look at them!” He roared as loudly as he dared, finally losing his temper. “You see what they do?” He asked, permitting himself to keep watching as Adrianna leveled her sword with the omega's midsection, and swung in a wide arc, severing the man's upper body from his lower half.

“This is why you need me; why we need each other.” Derek whispered back to Scott, who was horrifyingly transfixed by the sight of blood and guts splattering to the ground in a massive heap of steam and foul smelling innards. “The only way to fight them is together.” He reminded Scott.

“What are they doing?” The teen asked in a small voice, obviously shaken by what he'd witnessed.

“Declaring war.” Derek urged Scott to understand. Even the seasoned werewolf had never seen a hunter in training preform one of the executions before. It was both disturbing to him, and awakening.

“We have a code.” He heard Chris Argent protest weakly. His focus was not on the other hunters, but on the girl.

In one, fluid motion, the girl twisted her sword and flicked off all of the blood that had accumulated onto her blade. With the same languid grace, she returned the sword to it's scabbard and stood tall and unafraid in front of the other hunters. Blood splattered her pale cheeks and brought out the sporadic blonde streaks in her hair. 

Lips curling back in a snarl, she fearlessly contested the statement, with passion and anger that put a seed of fear and admiration into Derek's heart, despite what her words admitted.

“Not when they _murder_ my _mother_.” She boldly defected from the code every generation of Argent had ever adhered to, and believed in wholeheartedly until then. Ice seemed to run through Derek's veins. He never knew Kate had a daughter. “No code; not anymore.”

Gerard smiled and clapped the young woman on the shoulder proudly. “From now on, these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half.” He added onto her statement. “Are you listening?” He spoke to the crowd of confused hunters. “Because I don't care if they're wounded and weak, or seemingly harmless—begging for their life with the promise that they will never, ever hurt anyone. Or some desperate, lost soul with no idea what they're getting into.”

“We find them.” Gerard commanded, genocidal intentions making his voice sound ominous and insane.

“We kill them.” He coldly stated, oblivious to the shudder that ran through Adrianna's body or the increase in her heart-rate that let Derek know she was afraid. Why, he did not know.

“We kill them all.”

And the girl looked out into the trees and bushes, right where Derek and Scott were hiding, and even though her visage was mottled by blood and a thousand different, conflicting emotions, the hue of her verdant gaze was unmistakable to Derek.

 _Adrianna Argent,_ He realized. _Daughter of Kate Argent and next in line to take over the family business._

He could only pray that what had happened before, would not happen again.


	2. Shape Shifted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warnings for abuse

“Um—” Isaac hesitated, discreetly rubbing his palms together beneath the wooden table. “So far it's an A in French and a B minus in Econ.”

Silence rung and echoed across the vast distance between Isaac and his father, who were both sitting on opposite ends of the dining table. In his mind, Isaac wondered whether he would make it out of dinner unscathed, for once, or if he wouldn't be so lucky.

As of yet, his luck had been pretty bad, so he braced himself for the worst.

“Oh,” Isaac's father finally said, after taking a long, tense gulp of his coffee. “What about Chemistry?” He asked after another moment of playing with the unappetizing food on his plate.

Isaac's heart jumped into his throat, making the organ feel tight and unusable. His fists clenched beneath the table, tightly corded muscles he'd never had before, ready to snap at the first sign of a fight. He felt the fear intoxicating him; he wanted to hide beneath the table, like he had done when he was younger, or run away to live with his new family—his pack.

Instead, his eyes nervously darted around the room, looking anywhere but at his father, just in case the man might be able to discern his traitorous thoughts. “I'm not sure.” He lied badly. “Uh, midterms are in a few days, so it could go up.”

Teenagers were supposed to be good at lying, but the gene must have skipped Isaac, because the moment the words left his chapped lips, he knew they sounded terrified and fake. _There's no way my father will believe me_ , he realized.

“Well,” The man in question began, placing his mug onto the table with a resounding clunk. “What's it now?”

“The grade?” Isaac questioned, staring at his hands as though they might be the thing that finally saved him from this hell. Things never ended well when Isaac got a bad grade, or lied about it, but he knew that there was a small chance his father would just give up and leave him alone. Tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights.

“Uh, yeah.” His father mockingly spat, clearly annoyed by the frustrated colouring of his cheeks.

Heart hammering with the intent to break free, Isaac's hands began to tremble with the certainty that a punishment was just one mistake away. He had to be careful with what he said next. Anything could set his father off at this point.

“Uh,” He breathed deeply to try to collect his frazzled thoughts. “I'm not sure.”

“But you just said it could go up.” Mr. Lahey retorted, clearly furious the longer his son evaded the truth.

“I just—uh,” Isaac stuttered, trying in vain to regain control over his tongue and the situation, but realizing that it was too late now. “I meant generally.” He finished quietly, hunching forward in his seat to lessen his immense height.

“You wouldn't be lying to me, would you, Isaac?”

The words were like sharp, finite, nails in the coffin he'd buried himself in. There was no turning back now; no fixing this with the promise of good behavior and extra chores for a month. He'd reached the point of no return, where he knew that he was never safe.

“No.” He denied out of habit, more than self-preservation. He'd already come to terms with his fate. The basement below seemed to call out to him, or perhaps it was just the echoes of his screams, trapped within his own head.

“Then tell me your grade.” His father demanded in a tone Isaac knew all too well.

“I just told you,” Isaac defended himself, too frightened to tell the truth even though he was only making things worse by continuing to lie. “I don't know.”

The chair screeched against the tile floor as Mr. Lahey stood up and placed his palms flat onto the surface of the table. “You wanna take this little conversation downstairs?” He asked, deadly calm.

Isaac shook his head absently, the tightness in his throat expanding until he could no longer speak. His ears rung painfully but he dared not to reach up and cover them.

“No?” His father prompted him, raising his bushy eyebrows behind the thin wire frame of his glasses. “Then tell me the grade, son.”

Gulping visibly, Isaac wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans, glad that the table still covered much of his nervousness from his father, but wary that the wood could trap him, should he try to run too quickly, and trip over his chair.

“Dad,” He rambled. “This semester's only half over.”

“Isaac?” His father beckoned angrily, in a voice nearly as loud as a shout, finally tired of the excuses.

“There's plenty of time—” He continued, only to be cut off by his father's frustrated growl.

“Isaac.” He warned, leaning forward subconsciously, as though he wanted to reach over and slam his own child's face into the dinner plate before him.

Shame and terror forced Isaac to look away, staring into his lap to avoid the mad look in his father's eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if his father really understood the thing's he'd done, or if he'd lost his mind shortly after he'd lost his wife and eldest son.

“It's—it's a D.” He finally admitted, refusing to look up, although his father didn't seem to mind now that he'd gotten the truth out of him.

“Alright.” Mr. Lahey accepted. “It's a D.”

The lack of any more yelling or violence, caught Isaac by surprise. He cautiously met eyes with his father, hoping for the first time in years, that his dad had come back to his senses.

“I'm not angry.” The older man reassured, taking small, measured steps around the table. “You know I'm gonna have to find a way to punish you though.” And the words were like a literal bucket of ice water came crashing down over Isaac's head. “You know, I have my responsibility as a parent.” He continued, seemingly unaware of the horror crawling back into his son's heart. “So we'll start with something simple, like, uh—” He trailed off, searching for an example.

“Tell you what,” He waved about himself, like he'd gotten an idea. “You do the dishes and you clean up the kitchen, okay?” He asked.

Isaac could hardly believe his ears. He was so stunned, all he could do was nod, nearly mute, and respond with a small, timid, “Yeah.”

“Good.” Mr. Lahey agreed, his voice strong and resolute. “Because I—I'd really like to see this place spotless. Know what I'm saying?” He questioned, his posture becoming stiffer and angrier the longer he talked. “You know? I mean this entire kitchen.” He widely gesticulated, reaching out and taking hold of his forgotten coffee cup, only to smash it against the floor.

The blood drained from out of Isaac's face, migrating to his heart, which felt a thousand times too heavy for his body.

“Yeah!” His father hollered, getting excited as he swiped his arm out and shattered his plate, scattering his idle utensils to the floor. “Yeah, absolutely—spotless.”

Finally, Isaac's brain switched from neutral to drive, and he found the strength to push himself out of his chair, to the floor. His father smashed and lashed out on everything around him like a wild hurricane let loose on the suburban home. Curling into as small a form as the tall boy could managed, Isaac counted to ten in his head and waited for the storm to pass.

Only, it didn't pass soon enough for him to survive it, unscathed.

Lost in the confines of his anger, Mr. Lahey took hold of the pitcher which, up until then, had sat inoffensively in the centre of the table, and catapulted it towards the cowering form of his own son.

The glass shattered on impact and Isaac barely had enough time to raise his arms to protect his face, before all that was left of his mother's wedding present was broken glass and spilled water that tasted like tears.

His breathing was erratic and for a moment, all Isaac could feel was nothing—blissful, happy, _nothing._ Then a sharp pain bloomed across his right cheek and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out.

Lowering his arms and standing up to his full height, the boy, who had been forced to become a man far before his time, stared at his father in resentment and hatred. Mr. Lahey noticed what he'd done at the same time that Isaac realized his father could not be redeemed.

“Well, that was your fault.” His father reasoned, hiding his guilt with more anger and condescension.

“You could have blinded me.” Isaac hotly retorted, reaching his long fingers up to his face to feel around the glass shard, embedded beneath his eye.

“Shut up!” Mr. Lahey yelled, becoming defensive, now that his son no longer appeared to be an easy target. “It's a scratch!” He argued as the teenager plucked the shard out of his cheek and threw it to the ground. “It'd hardly even—” His father continued, only to be stopped short as his attention remained transfixed on the bleeding slice in Isaac's skin, which was rapidly healing.

There was no scar, no redness, no traces of bruising or trauma. It was as though Isaac's cheek had never been wounded in the first place.

Silence stretched once more throughout the rarely quiet household. The son regarded the father and the father regarded the son. Both of them knew that things were about to change; that they'd _already_ changed.

Before Mr. Lahey could react properly—which could have ranged from lashing out once more, or apologizing sincerely, he was so shocked—Isaac had already bolted out the door; acting on an impulse he had always been too afraid to follow, until now.

“Isaac!” His father yelled, not entirely sure if he wanted the boy to come back or not—but it was already too late, Isaac's mind had been made up long before that moment.

He'd made his choice when he'd accepted the bite. There was no turning back now. He was finally free; _safe._

Or so he thought. 

**#-#-#-#-#**

'Date night', was not at all what Adrianna Argent suspected her cousin, Allison, thought it to be. After all, there was no sappy romantic movie, overly salted popcorn, or stolen glances and lovey-dovey kisses. Quite the opposite in fact. Date night was all work and no play.

“Can I help you?” She heard the principal asking outside the car, close to the school building.

Although it was muffled, she could hear the outline of her uncle's concerned reply. “Well, I hope so, Principal Thomas.” He began. “As a concerned parent, I was wondering—how long has it been since your last performance review?”

“What?” The well-dressed principal blurted, confused, as he was led inside the dark SUV where Adrianna and Victoria were waiting patiently.

“ _We_ were wondering.” Chris amended, smiling lopsidedly in a manner that screamed _'I'm up to no good'_ , in more ways than one.

As Chris applied pressure to the principal's shoulders in order to force the man to sit down, Adrianna found herself sitting beside the man in question. Just being in such proximity to a living, breathing human, made the tips of her digits throb painfully. How she wished to feel his life bleeding through her fingers.

“Are you aware there's been an alarming drop in academic achievement and test scores over the past few semester's?” Victoria asked the man, casually placing a hand over her husband's knee, oblivious to the young huntress' struggle.

Baffled for a moment, the principal shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, before retorting, non too politely; “Excuse me?”

“It's led the parents of Beacon Hills to the unfortunate conclusion that you may no longer be suited to the position of school principal.” Victoria assured the man, smiling as though what she'd just said wasn't an insult.

Adrianna felt the principal's heart beating quickly, and the sweat trickling down his brow caused a cold, heaviness to weigh down the girl's very bones. She clenched her fists, making sure her expression remained stoic, and remembered the way she'd felt after killing the omega.

Guilt sat in her gut like a heavy stone and the desire to kill began to trickle out of her system. Her skin pulsed and complained at the very thought of scrubbing herself for hours under scalding water, just to feel clean again. Her eyes remembered for her, how many tears they'd shed.

There was always a price to pay for taking a life. Even the daughter of death knew that.

“You can't fire me.” The principal petulantly reminded them, bringing Adrianna's mind back to the present. Under her nails, she could still see traces of blood. Tightening her posture, she kept herself from picking at them.

“True,” Victoria agreed, reaching by her side to retrieve the electric taser specially designed for incapacitating werewolves. “But we can torture you.”

Panic and fear settled into the principal's eyes as he watched the rod light up and crackle with electricity. He tried to run but, quick as a viper, Adrianna's hand grabbed hold of his arm and kept him steady in his seat.

“Not so fast.” She told him, permitting the cold, poisonous tendrils of death to latch onto her prey and render him immobile. “We aren't done with you yet.”

Black veins sprouted across his neck, engorging the aorta and threatening to burst his circulatory system, should Adrianna command it. Surprise rendered her aunt and uncle statues, as they watched their niece use a birthright they had all hoped to be nothing more than a myth.

“Now, Principal Thomas,” Adrianna murmured quietly, dangerously. “I've heard your school is notoriously hard to get into.”

Her finely arched eyebrow demanded an answer, but the principal was nearing death at such a rate, that all he could do was nod eagerly. The green eyes he'd mistaken for an innocent, greedily fed off his fear and submission.

“Well, I'm not exactly what you'd call an honour-roll student,” She continued in a lazy drawl. For now, the others were content to let her control the situation. Out of the corner of her eye, Adrianna knew they would only wait for so long.

“I guess what I'm getting at,” She laughed slightly, digging her pale fingers into the man's elbow joint as he convulsed slightly from the nerve-damage. “Is if, even with all my mistakes, Beacon Hills High would accept a girl like me into this year's class.”

Principal Thomas choked on his own tongue before he could answer. He coughed and gagged and for a moment, Adrianna didn't do a thing; she was going to watch him die. Her eyes began to tint black as the man's death approached and the darkness she'd felt in her heart, since the day she'd been born, threatened to consume her.

But then, strong arms were pushing her aside, out the door, and onto the cold pavement beneath her. She spluttered and wretched on the asphalt, blinking rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes. She wasn't fast enough.

A force slammed into her middle, overturning her onto her back where she lay, heaving and coughing, exposed before Chris and Victoria as the monster she truly was.

“What are you?” Chris asked her, disgust evident in his tone.

The anger, blood lust, and hatred overwhelmed the sixteen-year-old, and all she could do was laugh; loud and maniacally. Her mother had made a mistake when she'd begged the god of death—Thanatos—for a daughter. Now the thing that had killed her mother, was killing her, and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it.

As Adrianna regained her breath, she smiled crookedly up at her uncle, feeling the homicidal urges beginning to lessen as she gave him his answer.

“I'm a demigod, and you?”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“I'm serious.” His best friend assured him for the sixth time this morning. “It's not like the last full moon. I don't feel the same."

“Oh,” Stiles remarked disbelievingly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes childishly. “Does that include the urge to maim and kill people like me?”

His friend didn't seem to have the same reservations, as he attempted to discreetly roll his eyes behind Stiles' turned back. Stiles wondered whether Scott knew all the things that he'd noticed him doing over the years, as his best friend leaned out of his locker so that he could look Stiles in the eye. “I swear, I don't have the urge to maim and kill you.” He re-reassured; if that was even possible.

“You know, you say that now but then the full moon goes up and out come the fangs and the claws and there's a lot of howling and screaming and running everywhere, okay?” The sarcastic teen retorted hotly, more than a little ticked off by the conversation and the remembrance of the real, untainted fear he was beginning to get _way_ too accustomed to feeling. “And it's very stressful on me and so yes, I'm still locking you up.” He finished self-pityingly.

“Okay, fine.” Scott agreed, although Stiles knew he only did so to calm him down. “But I do think I'm in more control now.” The dark haired beta added, his thoughts clearly drifting away from the conversation. “Especially since things are good with Allison.” He dreamily trailed off.

“Okay,” Stiles exasperatedly exclaimed, waving his hands in the air for added effect. “I'm aware of how good things are with Allison.”

Oblivious to Stiles' discomfort, Scott continued on the same topic. “They're really good.” He muttered with a smile on his face.

“I—thank you, I know.” Stiles stuttered, wishing for the millionth time that he'd chosen a smarter kid to play in the sandbox with, nearly ten years ago.

“I mean, like, _really_ good.” Scott pressed, and a small part of Stiles' brain reasoned that his best friend was probably just doing this to irritate him, because Scott couldn't be that clueless. _Could he?_

“All right, I get it!” The spastic teen boomed, slamming his fist against his shut locker to expel his frustration. “Just please shut the hell up before I have the urge to maim and kill myself.”

“All right,” Scott agreed, his crooked jaw twitching with the urge to smile. “Did you get something better than handcuffs this time?” He asked, changing the topic –probably so that he'd still have a best friend to count on when things turned hairy.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, pleased with himself as he reached for the constantly jamming knob of his locker's door. “Much better.”

And then he swung open the locker to reveal his genius solution to using flimsy, very breakable handcuffs during the full moon, only the hundred yards of heavy duty chain that he'd recently bought from the hardware store didn't cooperate at all.

It tumbled from the shelf he'd placed it on, loudly and disruptively, attracting the attention of every pair of eyes in the entire locker room, including their eccentric, sadistic coach.

The spiky haired, wide-eyed man walked up to the pair and Stiles prepared himself for the worst, lifting his shoulders in an attempt to hide his face from the world that had suddenly become overwhelmingly embarrassing.

“Par of me wants to ask.” The older man began, pointing at the still falling metal links. “The other part says knowing will be more disturbing than anything I could ever image. So—I'm gonna walk away.” The coach decided, beginning to do just that.

“That's good.” Stiles found himself gratefully replying. “That's a wise choice, coach.” He slapped Scott on the shoulder in celebration of a detention-less evening, only for the other boy to remain with his eyes fixated on a specific point in the room.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, Stiles experimentally pushed his friend's shoulder once more. “You okay?” He questioned, looking around to try to see what had captured Scott's attention. “Scott?” He insisted when he didn't get an answer.

“There's another.” Scott declared, still apparently transfixed by a sound or sight—maybe even a scent—that Stiles couldn't see, hear or smell. “In here, right now.” The boy continued, lifting his chin up like he'd caught a whiff of something interesting.

“Another what?” Stiles found himself asking hesitantly. In the year so far, neither of them had had much luck when it came to Scott's new werewolf abilities. He crossed the fingers on his left hand behind his back, just in case.

Standing up straight, Scott turned to look Stiles in the eyes, and immediately, he knew there was no use in hoping. Scott's next words confirmed that the worst was yet to come.

“Another werewolf.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“You really don't remember anything?” Allison asked her redheaded, more than slightly narcissistic best friend , who'd been missing for two days and apparently couldn't recall her time running through the woods, sans clothes.

“Isn't that what she just said?” A sarcastic, slightly annoyed voice responded before Lydia had the chance. Glancing in her rear view mirror, Allison's lips pressed together as she once again took in the state her cousin was in.

It had been more than enough of a surprise to discover that Kate— _her_ Aunt Kate who'd just recently had her throat slit by Peter Hale after trying to kill him and his nephew, Derek—had a daughter that no one but Gerard and Chris knew about. But then, she discovered the dark haired girl's tempestuous attitude and fiery temper, and that—despite the fact that she should have expected it, with Kate being her mother—surprised her even more.

Sharing an uneasy look between them, Allison shook her head to try to persuade Lydia not to question the grumpy brunette, but anyone who knew the Martin, knew that once her mind was set, there was no changing it.

“So,” Lydia began, dropping the visor above her head to look Adrianna in the eye as she re-applied gloss to her already shining lips. “Who is she again?” She asked Allison, ignoring the glare that the younger Argent pointedly directed at her.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Allison gripped the wheel tightly. One look in the rear view mirror at her cousin's expression was more than enough warning that the girl didn't want Lydia to know anything about her, but still, she was her best friend. After all the things she was finding that she had to lie to Lydia about, Allison figured that she could at least tell the truth on this one thing.

“No one.” Adrianna interrupted abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose as though she had a migraine and turning her face so that she was looking out the window, halting any further attempts to continue the conversation on her or Lydia's part.

Shuffling in her seat, Lydia recovered from Adrianna's rebuff with a speed that had once astonished Allison, but which she now anticipated, having learned that there was more to Lydia that she let on.

“They called it a fugue state,” The red head replied to the previously dropped question as Allison pulled into the school's parking lot and slid her shiny Toyota into a stall near the school's entrance. “Which is basically a way of saying 'We have no idea why you can't remember running through the woods naked for two days.'” She explained as she maneuvered out of the car in her tight dress and heels.

Allison followed closely behind her friend, casually checking on her distracted cousin every once in a while, and catching herself speculating what exactly the girl's problem was. She looked hung over, but Allison knew for a fact that Adrianna had spent the evening with Gerard, getting accustomed to Beacon Hills.

Lydia's smooth, factual voice brought Allison's thoughts back on track. “But personally, I don't care.” The confident teenager added, sashaying her hips in a way that made Allison wish she had curves. “I lost nine pounds.” She exclaimed, satisfied.

Adrianna's snort was loud enough to draw both girl's attentions but with a harsh little smirk, Kate's daughter easily shrugged off Lydia's withering glare and Allison's curious expression.

Just another reason why Allison found that she couldn't trust her new cousin.

The trio continued towards the school in silence, stopping in front of the double doors that led inside the building—each for different reasons. Lydia and Allison were concerned over the gossip that may have been garnered thanks to Lydia's naked jaunt in the woods, but Adrianna must have been afraid of her first day of school and having to deal with more new things.

At least, that was how Allison remembered feeling herself, only a few months ago, when _she'd_ been the new girl.

“Are you ready for this?” Allison asked aloud. She wasn't sure who the question was directed at, but Lydia was the one who answered.

“Please.” She retorted saucily. “It's not like my aunt's a serial killer.”

For a moment, the shock of Lydia's comment rendered Allison frozen solid. She felt like her skin was ice and her veins were fire. As she assimilated her friend's barb and understood that it was Lydia's way of regaining confidence, Allison noticed her cousin, Adrianna's reaction for the first time.

The sixteen year old had her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed, trained with hostility on the back of Lydia's head. She seemed to be at war with herself because every time she made a move—whether it was to step forward or part her lips as though to speak—she held herself back and did nothing.

Around them, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees, but Allison knew it must have been her imagination because the moment Lydia pushed open the school's doors, Allison felt warm once more; or at least, as warm as one could feel in the fall.

Immediately, all eyes in the school zeroed in on Lydia, watching and waiting for the queen of Beacon Hills High's reaction. She was equally stunned, however, with none of her usual bravado and arrogance on display.

Allison felt pity for her friend, and, despite knowing that she should have left the often times tactless red head to fend for herself, she leaned in close to Lydia's shoulder and whispered what was both a compliment and pay back for her previous insult.

“Maybe it's the nine pounds.” She told Lydia.

Adrianna smirked cruelly, in the way that Allison had only ever seen Kate pull of without looking ridiculous, and stalked past the group.

The movement seemed to be enough to revive Lydia, as she quickly tossed her long, red hair over her shoulder and followed the other girl's example of cool indifference.

Allison only had enough time to briefly wonder how her best friend and cousin had scarily similar reactions, before racing off to catch up with her friend.

_What else could Adrianna be hiding?_

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

His father was dead.

His father was dead, and Isaac hadn't been the one who killed him.

There was something oddly poetic about the whole thing, although, to be honest, Isaac was too far scared out of his wits to notice. To make things worse, the young werewolf was fairly certain that his alpha, Derek Hale, didn't believe that he was innocent.

School seemed like the last place he should have been at a time like this, but that was where Isaac found himself. Listening into other people's conversations and trying very hard not to have a panic attack as the heartbeat's of his lacrosse teammates blended into a roaring, chaotic drumbeat.

He seriously needed to get a handle on his new abilities, or else, he was certain he'd have to lock himself away from everyone with a pumping heart and wheezing lungs for the rest of his existence as a werewolf. Which, at the moment, didn't seem like very long, all things considered.

Securing his lacrosse jersey and pads where they were riding up around his shoulders, Isaac tried to focus the way Derek had told him to. Getting into the lineup for tryouts, Isaac shook his head vigorously to try to clear the static along with bits and pieces of other people's conversations.

He heard something about a plan from the opposite side of the field, where two boys were sitting on the bleachers, but before he could focus his hearing to try to find out what Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski were talking about, coach began shouting out orders.

“Let's go!” The lacrosse-obsessed maniac crowed; his lightning rod hairstyle making him look even more insane than his actions were as he gesticulated wildly. “Line it up! Faster!” He continued to call. “Make daddy proud.”

Isaac could hardly keep himself from grimacing at the things their coach was yelling. Sometimes he wondered how he'd gotten the position in the first place, but then he thought about how successful Beacon Hill's team had been over it's history and he knew the answer. No one with a reputation or any self-respect would willingly coach a team that had broken the average yearly record for losses—twice.

Digging his lacrosse stick into the grass beneath his feet, Isaac breathed deeply and continued to try to remain in control of his erratic temper. He looked around the field for something else to distract him, now that coach's high-pitched insults were beginning to grate against his nerves, and found one in Scott McCall, who was apparently standing in for Danny as goalie.

Brow furrowing, Isaac watched as, instead of trying to deflect or catch the incoming ball or player, he rammed straight into the poor senior who was first in line. Scott didn't seem at all injured, but the other boy remained on the ground in a heap, only lifting himself up when Scott offered his help, and even then, he did so with a loud groan and mumbled complaints and curses Isaac wished he hadn't heard.

“McCall!” Coach shouted at the top of his voice; which was really just the way that he talked.

Scott looked over, raising his arms in a questioning gesture that was both awkward and apologetic. “Yeah.” He asked, seemingly truly confused.

Muttering under his breath, the coach pointed dramatically at McCall before explaining his annoyance. “Usually the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal.” He mocked, not caring whether he embarrassed the teenager or not.

“Yes, coach.” Scott agreed, too quickly in Isaac's opinion, to be sincere.

“Let's try it again.” The man said, blowing sharply into his whistle. The noise pierced into Isaac's sensitive ear drums and caused him to pull his shoulders up close to his chin, in an effort to block out the sound.

Ahead of him, he dully noticed that Scott had, instead of playing by the rules—as he'd told the coach—once more tackled the oncoming player to the ground. Matt Daehler picked himself up faster than the other boy had, dusting off his jersey and glaring at McCall accusatorily.

“What the hell, man?” He asked. Isaac could smell his anger like a punch to the nose. It reminded him of the one time he'd sniffed smelling salts during a visit to the hospital when his father had beaten him up too badly.

As the coach once more reprimanded McCall, and the shaggy haired boy once more agreed to play by the rules—which then lead to Scott breaking the rules and attacking every lacrosse player in the line-up, save for Jackson, who stepped out using the excuse that his shoulder was still injured—Isaac lost more and more control over his anger and annoyance and sheer, murderous rage.

The part of him that was the scared, defenseless human who'd weathered countless beatings and preferred to stay unnoticed, rather than gain attention—good or bad—was becoming less distinct and muted. Like the wolf was suppressing everything that made him Isaac, until all that was left was the urge to defend himself; to maim and kill until he could be certain that no one would ever hurt him again.

Eye's glowing amber, Isaac stepped forward and kicked his cleats into the ground, flinging grass and mud into the air. A growl that started in his chest rumbled out of his throat, deep and dangerous—ready to kill.

He didn't think as he charged McCall. Not about what would happen when they collided. Not about who would witness his extraordinary strength. Not even about what Derek would say to him, when he found out.

He just ran at the boy his more rational brain knew to be another werewolf, and tried his utmost to destroy his competition. Twirling through the air, the two equal forces smashed into each other, wrestling for dominance until their feet touched the ground again.

And then, just as suddenly as the uncontrollable blood-lust had come, it vanished from Isaac's system. He looked up at Scott, who's eyes were also yellow, and whispered the only words he could coherently string together.

“Don't tell them.” He begged the beta. “Please don't tell them.”

Even he didn't know exactly who he was talking about, but the approaching Sheriff and his Deputies were just as well as any for him to be referring.

He didn't know what would happen to him if the Sheriff arrested him for murdering his father. Would Derek come for him, or would he be on his own?

 _I guess I'll find out,_ Isaac realized as the law-men approached him and explained to him what he had already guessed, before escorting him back into the school for further questioning.

When he'd agreed to the bite, he hadn't known he was consenting to the strength, the power, the danger. All he'd wanted was to not be afraid anymore. Was that really too much to ask?

**#-#-#-#-#**

The leather, swivel chair belonging to the Principal's office quite suited Gerard's taste. It was comfortable but effective for it's purpose, and it even had a reclining feature. Gerard always did love it when something surprised him—although it hardly ever occurred nowadays.

Dragging a finger over the glossy surface of his new desk, he was glad to see that there were no traces of dust. With the state of the previous Principal—Principal Thomas—Gerard had prepared himself for anything. It was becoming far too common for people to lose respect of their titles and duties in this world. He'd seen it first hand with many a respected hunting family.

At one point, even the Hales had been up there with the untouchable Druids and Nemetons, that was, until Kate destroyed them. His daughter—who was dead now, and who would be the sole reason for the wolves of Beacon Hill's annihilation—the mother of his latest protege, Adrianna Argent.

How he had plans for that girl. Good plans—important plans; for him. She would be the strongest Argent hunter in a thousand years, and he would be the only one who could control her. It was brilliant really. She was already playing right into his trap like the innocent flower she was.

Glancing up from where he was staring intently at the cherry red mahogany of his desk, he forced himself to repress his glee for the sake of his two visitors. None other than Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski. His _other_ granddaughter's ex-boyfriend and his apparent best friend.

“Boys,” He called out, watching as they hesitated to enter into his office, upon realizing who their new Principal was. “Come on in.”

With a nervous glance shared between the two, Scott entered first, followed by the awkward friend, and they both took the seats directly across from Gerard. Already, he was enjoying having control over the high school, especially since he now had the opportunity to interfere in matters he would have otherwise been an outsider to.

“Scott McCall.” He started, pulling out a portfolio comprised of the boy's school records and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth when he realized how behind the boy was. “Academically not the most accomplished,” He read aloud, “But I see you have become quite the star athlete.”

Parting his lips to comment, Gerard continued on, not permitting either one of his students to interrupt while he was—in a sense—interrogating them. “Mr. Stilinski.” He addressed next, happy to watch as the duo floundered with what to say next. “Oh, perfect grades but little to no extra-curriculars.” He explained, placing a hand to his chin as he dropped the portfolio on the Stilinski boy.

“Maybe you should try lacrosse.” He suggested, tapping his wrinkled fingers against the manila folder.

“Oh,” The boy replied excitedly. “Actually I'm already—”

Before he could explain that he was indeed, already on the team, as Gerard knew quite well, the elder hunter interrupted once more. “Hold on.” He exclaimed with false surprise, taking a slight thrill in the way both boys jumped in their seats. “McCall. You're the Scott that was dating my granddaughter.”

Clasping his hands together nervously, then untying and placing them on the arms of his chair, Scott answered tensely. “We were dating, but not anymore.” He tried to assure Gerard, who couldn't prevent the incredulous rising of his left eyebrow. “Not dating, not seeing anything of each other or doing anything with each other—”He blurted out quickly, before adding, panicked. “At all.”

Hardly restraining himself from scoffing, Gerard breathed deeply before composing himself. “Relax, Scott,” He told the boy who was so obviously lying, it physically hurt Gerard to play along. “You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth.”

Licking his lips, the young man smile tightly. “Just a hard breakup.” He clarified, this time without regaling his Principal.

“Oh, that's too bad.” Gerard comforted the boy with false sympathy. “You seem like a pretty nice kid to me.”

Sitting back in his chair, Scott replied to Gerard with a half shrug and a confused glance directed at his friend. If he hadn't been sitting more than a meter away from the boy, Gerard would have been tempted to grab hold of the impertinent youth's ear and demand some respect. As it was, he simply threaded his fingers together and reminded himself that the time for revenge was not now. _Not yet._

“Now listen, boys.” He found himself saying. “Yes, I am the Principal, but I really don't want you to think of me as the enemy.” The irony of his statement was simply too delicious for Gerard not to indulge with a satisfied grin.

The other boy, Stiles, laughed uncertainly. “Is that so?” He asked. He seemed to be the smarter of the two. Gerard made a mental note to be more wary of the boy. He couldn't be having his plans ruined by an overly nosy sixteen-year-old.

“However,” He expounded, glad to see that his change in tone had brought about the straightening of shoulders and trading of wary looks. “This being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention.”

The eyes of a trained hunter landed on the only possible threat in the room—Stiles Stilinski—and so did the apologetic eyes of his best friend. It was obvious who had been nominated for the punishment to all but the boy in question, who had a naive smile on his face for another few moments before the truth of his situation hit home.

 _Children these days are so easy to manipulate,_ Gerard happily catalogued. If only he could say the same for the supernatural creatures he hunted.

_**#-#-#-#-#** _

Rushing out of the school as fast he felt was safe, Scott skidded to a stop at the edge of the curb as the police cruiser pulled away with Isaac Lahey trapped in the back. Stiles' words came back to Scott's mind then and he knew that the young beta werewolf was going to be held over night at the Sheriff's station, on a full moon.

 _This is so not going to end well_ , he realized gloomily. Not only had he nearly screwed everything up in front of his not-girlfriend's grandfather, but now he had also failed to save a boy his age from possibly murdering someone.

Grunting in frustration, Scott kicked the curb angrily just as a shiny, black Camaro pulled up in front of him. The tinted windows rolled down to reveal the face of none other than Derek Hale. His sometimes blue, sometimes red eyes were hidden by dark, shades, and—although Scott hated to admit it—the car suited him.

“Get in.” The rookie alpha demanded gruffly. Scott didn't think that he'd ever heard the older man ask for anything nicely before.

“Are you serious?” Scott retorted, just as aggressively. “You did that. That's your fault.” He said, pointing towards the direction in which the police cruiser and Isaac had disappeared in.

“I know that.” Derek reluctantly agreed. It was clear that the words stung him by the sour expression on his face. “Now get in the car and help me.” He finished.

“No, I've got a better idea. I'm gonna call a lawyer.” The young beta rebuked. “Because a lawyer might actually have a chance at getting him out before the moon goes up.” He foolishly assumed.

“Not when they do a real search of the house.” Derek ominously contested. It made the hairs on Scott's arms stand on end.

“What do you mean?” He asked curiously, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“Whatever Jackson said to the cops,” The alpha explained. “What's in the house is worse. A lot worse.”

Scott didn't want to help Derek Hale anymore than he wanted to be killed by hunters, but there was real concern in the rough around the edges alpha, and that was more than enough to at least garner Scott's attention and his help.

Besides, Stiles was going to kill him when he got out of detention.

He climbed into the car and as it peeled out of the school's parking lot, he watched as a young girl slammed open the double doors that led into the school and stayed standing on the front steps until the car turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Scott recognized her as the girl who'd attended Kate's funeral with Gerard. The same girl who'd sliced the omega that the Argent's had found in the woods, in half. What he couldn't understand was the connection she had with the hunting family—with Allison.

During their midnight rendezvous in the woods, Allison had refused to speak about her. Now, Scott wondered if there was a reason for that. He found himself doubting whether he could trust Allison or not.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

His hand itched and tingled, as it had since the night before when he'd unceremoniously thrown his own niece out of the car, for fear that the girl would commit murder.

Chris knew what a Demigod was. He had learned just about every myth anyone had ever thought of over the twenty or so years he'd been hunting, and Greek mythology had happened to be one of his favourites. Never in a million years had he expected for it to be real.

As Gerard paced slightly behind the desk in his study, trying not to show how impatient he was to find an excuse to kill the latest child they'd had suspicions about being a werewolf, Chris flexed his hand in an attempt to regain feeling in the digits.

There was most definitely something wrong with Adrianna Argent, and not just the homicidal tendencies that he knew Kate must have instilled in her as a child. She'd lost all semblance of control that night, when they'd tortured the Principal. He'd never seen anything like it, but then again, there'd never been an Argent hunter that wasn't human before—he supposed he should expect the unexpected from now on.

“I'm not interested in whether they locked up a sixteen-year-old kid.” Gerard reiterated, pressing his palms flat against the desk and leaning forwards in a way that had once intimidated Chris, and sometimes still did. “I'm interested in what's going to happen to that sixteen-year-old when the moon hits it's peak tonight.”

Gerard pushed himself away from the desk. His hand twitched by his side and Chris knew that if he'd been about twenty years younger, and less bald, the elder Argent would have run his hand through his hair. As it was, he simply curled the flat palm into a fist and turned to look at Chris once more.

“Do we have proof?” He brusquely inquired.

There was a slight hesitation before Chris gave his answer, one that he knew his father picked up on, but did not bother to point out. “Is the next step killing him?” He boldly deflected. As he'd grown up and separated himself from Gerard, Chris had learned that his father's brutal ways weren't always the most effective when it came to preserving the greater good.

Sighing through his nose, Gerard's expression became disappointed. Chris tried to hide the way it compressed his insides, but he'd never been as good at subtlety and his little sister—despite her flamboyant tendencies.

“The next step is eliminating the threat.” Gerard continued on, like a freight train that had been forced to stop at a railway crossing. “Do we have proof?” He asked once more.

Straightening his shoulders in the way he had learned from his father when he became obstinate in his ways, Chris proceeded to cross his arms over his chest. “I haven't been in history class for a while,” He began, already certain by the way his father's eyes narrowed that the older man didn't appreciate being toyed with. “But I'm pretty sure straight-up genocide hasn't worked out too often.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Gerard closed his eyes for a moment before responding, this time in more control of his temper than he had been in before. “Do we have proof or not?”

Breathing deeply, Chris knew that he could no longer avoid giving an answer to Gerard. Certainly not when he was as deadly calm and as sharply focused as he was now. “Not irrefutable,” He finally caved. “But not insignificant. The driver's side door of the Lahey's car was pried off.”

“Pried off?” Gerard questioned, his eyebrows rising with his excitement.

Glancing down at his shoes, Chris forced himself to look back up and reply. “Ripped off.” He corrected grudgingly.

The self-satisfied grin that slid onto Gerard's face was more than enough for Chris to realize that now that Gerard had proof of the boy's guilt, there would be no hope of saving him. He had told everyone that he planned on killing any werewolf he came across—guilty or not. Now it seemed that that threat had been realer than Chris had hoped it to be.

“Very good.” Gerard congratulated. “Adrianna will handle this one.” He told Chris, turning his back on his son to look out the window and the setting sun. “Inform her of the news.”

Clearing his throat and shuffling his feet, feeling about twelve years old again, Chris wrung his hands behind his back. “Is that wise?” He found himself asking, despite his earlier reservations about crossing Gerard now that he'd tried his luck.

The doubting tone in his son's voice must have been surprising to Gerard, as he turned back around to face him. Examining him from head to toe, his father tilted his head in the way that Chris had seen wolves doing to their prey, before speaking aloud.

“Are you questioning my orders?” His voice was quieter than Chris had ever heard it. “Do you think I've made a bad call?” He continued in the same tone. “You're not having second thoughts about hunting, are you Chris?” He asked, a slight mocking lilt taking hold of his normally gravelly voice. “Have you forgotten what we've lost? What they did to your sister?”

“No,” Chris barked angrily, ashamed to have fallen for another one of his father's carefully lain traps. “No, I haven't.” He continued with more control. “I just don't think Adrianna is ready for this. She's unstable—unpredictable.” He justified. “Just last night, she tried to kill Principal Thomas. Surely you can't trust her to deal with a case as sensitive as this?”

“Ah,” The elder Argent understood. “You're concerned because of _what_ she is.”

Silence rung throughout the room, only broken by the sound of footsteps overhead as Allison and Adrianna trotted downstairs, passing the shut doors of the study, towards the kitchen. Both were oblivious to the argument unfolding mere meters away from them. Chris and Gerard both wanted to keep it that way.

“You knew.” Chris accused, making certain his voice was quiet enough not to be overheard. “Why didn't you tell me?” He asked when Gerard's stoic silence gave him his answer, clearly confused.

“It was Kate's decision to allow her to live,” Gerard vindicated. “Her father wasn't _human._ ” He distastefully admitted. “None the less, you can rest assured knowing that she is fully under my control. As long as she's alive, she'll adhere to our code.”

“I thought there was no code.” Chris bitterly reminded his father.

They stared at each other heatedly—a thousand things were left unsaid between them and it was just as well. A fight would have been catastrophic at that point. Even Chris knew that, so he chose to change the topic back to what it had been.

“How are you so sure that you can control her?” He queried. “We hardly know anything about her—let alone what she's capable of.”

Walking around his desk and placing a demeaning hand on Chris' shoulders, Gerard closed his hand around the doorknob of his study, twisting gently as he ended their conversation.

“Supernatural creatures aren't all that different, Christopher.” He said with finality. “As it turns out, that includes our Adrianna.”

Chris could only hope that his father knew what he was doing, for he knew he'd never meddled with the likes of Greek Demigods before. In reality, he should have been worried for Adrianna—who had already been caught in her grandfather's deadly game.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

“If Isaac didn't kill his father,” Derek heard Scott ask from where he was following him up the stone steps leading to the residential two story home. “Who did?”

Pushing open the unlocked front door and letting himself in, Derek glanced back at his current ally and tried not to sound overly condescending as he replied. “I don't know yet.” He explained patiently—or at least, as patiently as a Hale could be.

“Then how do you know he's telling the truth?” Scott shot back, eyes peering into the darkness of the entryway to try to see further into the pitch black house.

“Because I trust my senses.” Derek replied, feeling a smirk crawling across his lips as he recalled the specific techniques Scott had employed to try to sniff out Isaac—quite literally. “And it's a combination of them.” He added slyly. “Not just your sense of smell.”

Stopping in front of the door leading down into the basement, Derek saw the young teen shutting his eyes and cringing as realization struck. “You saw the lacrosse thing today.” He stated, pained.

“Yeah.” Derek replied flatly, happy to let the beta stew in his own mortification for a while longer.

“Did it look that bad?” Scott hesitantly asked, almost as though he really didn't want to know the answer. Derek couldn't say he blamed him. If it had been him caught doing something as embarrassing as sniffing each lacrosse player on the team, just to try to find out which one was a werewolf, he would have tried to deny it as well.

“Yeah.” He smugly pronounced, much to Scott's further humiliation.

Swinging the door open, Derek looked deep into the darkness within. Using his wolf's eyes, he could make out the distinct shapes of old lacrosse gear along with other forgotten items that could have belonged to the local thrift store. Under the only source of light besides the open doorway, which was a cracked, bolted-shut window, was the freezer.

“You wanna learn?” He asked Scott, and his voice echoed down the stairs and floated around the room. His nose was becoming overpowered with the stench of fear—some of it was days old, the rest was from years ago. “Let's start now.” He told the beta.

Leaning his body forwards, Scott tried to see into the gloom with his human eyes. “What's down there?” He wondered aloud as he took hold of the door frame for more support.

After thinking a moment, Derek answered Scott's question with the only word that seemed to fit. “Motive.”

Breathing deeply, the young werewolf placed his foot on the first step downwards, grabbing hold of the rail as his heart rate accelerated. “And what am I looking for?” He called from the bottom of the stairs, up to Derek, who hadn't followed him.

“Follow your senses.” He informed the beta, just like his mother Thalia had once instructed him.

A few seconds went by where Derek could see Scott searching the room, following the scent of Isaac's fear. Finally, the teen approached the freezer, running his hand over the lid along with the thick chains which wound around it to keep it securely locked.

“What happened down here?” Scott nearly whispered. If Derek hadn't had enhanced hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard him.

“The kind of thing that leaves an impression.” He replied, imagining through the things that Isaac had told him, and the things he didn't need to, how the young man had survived living with his father. “Open it.” He told Scott.

He heard the chains fall away and the hinges squeak in protest as Scott raised the lid to the freezer. Derek walked down the steps and joined Scott near the empty freezer. The shaggy-haired beta was transfixed by the claw-like marks imprinted into the inside of the lid. Created, not by a werewolf, but by a terrified human using the only defense left available to him.

“This is why he said yes to you.” Scott realized, shutting the lid delicately, as though he was afraid of breaking it.

“Everyone wants power.” He reminded Scott, crossing his arms in front of his chest sedately.

Shaking his head, Scott turned away from the freezer, towards Derek. “If we help you,” He said clearly, resolutely. “Then you have to stop. You can't just go around turning people into werewolves.” 

Indignation flared in Derek's chest and he narrowed his eyes, wondering why he'd bothered to ask for help from the naive boy in the first place. “I can if they're willing.” He corrected the boy.

“Did you tell Isaac about the Argents?” Scott inquired angrily. “About being hunted?”

“Yes,” Derek replied, much to Scott's apparent surprise. “And he still asked.”

A moment of bafflement was all that Scott permitted before he continued on, using his last, lousy excuse. “Then he's an idiot.” Derek would have cracked a smile, had he not just insulted his own beta.

“And you're the idiot dating Argent's daughter.” He exclaimed furiously, attempting to reason with the stubborn boy. “Yeah, I know your little secret.” He told a shocked Scott. “And if I know, how long do you think it's gonna take for them to find out? You saw what happens to an omega.” He reminded the teen. “With me, you learn how to use all of your senses. With me, you learn control. Even on a full moon.” He pressed.

With his head held low, Scott sighed resignedly. “If I'm with you,” He muttered lowly. “I lose her.”

“You're gonna lose her anyway.” Derek prompted him to accept as he made his way out of the basement, finally having given up on trying to recruit Scott McCall into his pack. “You know that.”

“Wait.” Scott cried, regaining Derek's attention and a small bit of hope that perhaps the young man had come to his senses. “I'm not part of your pack.” He informed him strictly. “But I want him out. He's my responsibility too.”

A part of Derek felt lighter, knowing that he had Scott's help, but there was something that nagged at him, demanding to be asked. “Why?” He wondered. “Because he's one of us?”

Joining Derek where he'd stopped at the top of the steps, Scott looked at him in the eyes and gave his answer with such conviction and certainty, that Derek began to doubt—just a little bit—whether he was the one who should have been the alpha after all.

“Because he's innocent.” Scott declared.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

The night was a cold, gloomy one with the only light to go by coming from the full moon that hung at the top of the dark horizon. Mist clung to the ground nearby as a shadow crept into the suburban subdivision with one thing on it's mind.

A house, normal in appearance but beneath the surface, a war zone of hostility and pain, was the destination of the creature. It's clawed hand easily pushed open the door and it's luminous, reptilian eyes peered into the darkness within the house, searching for it's next victim.

Voices echoed from within the bowels of the home, but the creature was not afraid. It hissed experimentally, entering the domicile with little more incentive than the constant reminder of it's master's wishes.

Sharp claws clacked against the wooden floors of the home, scratching and denting the planks. There was no one to complain—the home was abandoned, not by choice, but by a series of unfortunate events that had forced it to be so.

The creature made it's way down the corridor, past the kitchen, and towards the voices which had vanished, like fog from a bathroom mirror. It could hear two heartbeats, loud and steady. That was enough to guide it.

Beneath the home, was the stronger of the two; a werewolf struggling to remain human during the full moon. The creature could smell the wolf's defeat from it's place above. It knew the boy had lost control. It would not be wise to pick that one. That one could kill it, while the other human, could not.

Tail flicking behind it, it climbed across the walls all the way up onto the ceiling, watching as the girl beneath it tried to pinpoint the origin of the hissing sound that the creature was making. She didn't even think to look above her. It was the reason why the creature had chosen to do so in the first place.

Dropping to the ground as the girl backed into the kitchen, the creature's scaly body shone in the dim light of the room. As the dark haired girl grabbed hold of a sharp knife and beckoned for the monster to reveal itself to her, the creature heard the werewolf break free of it's bonds and rush to aid the girl. It knew it only had moments left before the wolf would pose a danger to it's continued existence.

Even so, the creature hazarded another look at the girl. It's head emerged from the shadows, shiny scales glittering like polished jade, and the yellow of it's slitted eyes was like crystallized amber.

The werewolf crashed into the kitchen and, without further ado, the creature turned around and dashed out of the house, hissing violently and swinging it's tail to and fro.

A moment of stunned silence rung between the human and the werewolf where all that could be done was to stare into the darkness before them, watching as the creature departed without a trace.

“What the hell was that?” The girl asked the boy with fangs and glowing eyes.

“I don't know.” He replied.

Only the wide open doorway of the normal, two story home, and the frightened memories of Allison Argent and Scott McCall bore any trace of the unwelcome visitor.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

Adrianna's boots were laced tightly and the long, leather scabbard concealing her broadsword was strapped securely to her back. The box of wolfsbane was in her partner's meaty hands, as per her grandfather Gerard's instructions, and the cool night air reminded her of nights spent lying out in the strawberry fields, looking at the stars until she fell asleep.

That had been a time when she was happy—content. Now she felt a heavy darkness clogging her veins and weighing down her chest. It followed her everywhere. She worried whether, without Chris to stop her, she'd lose control over her temper and her powers, only to kill again.

Her hands shook with the mere thought of the blood that she'd spilled during her time in Beacon Hills. The omega was first—she hadn't even realized what she was doing until it was too late. The Principal would have been second, had her uncle not stepped in, and now there was another suspected werewolf her grandfather wanted her to go after.

Adrianna knew Gerard wouldn't mind if she accidentally killed the werewolf, but she also knew that her conscious couldn't carry another loss of control ending in someone else's death. This man or woman had their whole life ahead of them. She couldn't be responsible for taking that away. 

A particularly large bump in the road jostled the car as it traveled down one of the many dark, ominous alleys Adrianna had come to learn that Beacon Hills had. Two sharp clangs rang in the quiet, followed by a loud hissing sound and the angry squeal of their tires as the hunter beside her abruptly stopped the car.

Glancing at each other questioningly, Adrianna's brow furrowed as, in the darkness encompassing a nearby building, she made out the glint of metal. “What was that?” She asked the man across from her.

“Stay here.” He gruffly substituted for an answer as he climbed out of the car. A faint, whizzing sound reached Adrianna's ears, which she was able to identify as an arrow only a few seconds too late.

The hunter's grunting and curses filtered inside the car, alerting her that he'd been shot at and injured. As he crawled back inside the car, starting the engine and ripping away from the scene, Adrianna took note of the stainless steel arrow embedded in his thigh and the shadow she'd seen before, poised just out of sight.

“Are you alright?” She asked the hunter once they'd been driving for a few minutes. “Did you get a look at whoever shot you?”

Staring forward at the road ahead, the hunter responded tightly as he turned the wheel to enter into the parking lot of the Sheriff's station. “No,” He admitted sourly. “I didn't see anything. Did you?” He scathingly retorted.

Narrowing her eyes at him as he put the vehicle into park and removed the keys from the ignition, Adrianna reached out and grabbed hold of the arrow protruding from her partner's leg, before pulling roughly. The man's scream was high-pitched and girl-like, so much so that Adrianna didn't feel any guilt for inflicting such agony upon her supposed partner or for the blood staining her hands.

“Yes,” She told him icily. “I saw a shadow moving behind a building.” Studying the streamline black shaft of the stainless steel, Adrianna haphazardly tossed the projectile into the back of the car. “And this arrow will tell me much more than you.” She added, snatching the box of wolfsbane from the useless man's hands and getting out of the car.

“Stay here.” She commanded bluntly before slamming the door. “Before you get yourself killed.” She muttered under her breath as she walked up the back entrance of the Sheriff's station and calmly slid the stolen key-card through the card reader.

With a relieving beep, the door unlocked and Adrianna took one last moment to re-check her weapons before heading inside. Her boots had a small dagger hidden in each sole, her broadsword was strapped to her back, and the wolfsbane was clutched tightly in her palm. Everything was in place. She was the hunter now and she was ready to find her prey.

Navigating the winding corridors, Adrianna kept her free hand in a tight fist to calm her nerves. This was the first solo hunt her grandfather had ever allowed her to lead. There was absolutely no margin for error.

Suddenly, as she turned a particularly narrow corner, she came face to face with a boy. Not just any boy, she regrettably understood. A boy with a buzz-cut, too many freckles, and a hyperactive brain.

“Oh, no.” Stiles exclaimed in surprise, not fully looking her in the eyes. “Oh, uh, I was just looking, um—”He stuttered painfully before lifting his chin upwards and staring directly at Adrianna Argent.

His pupils dilated exponentially. His palms and forehead began sweating and there was only a split second of comprehensive panic for him to attempt to say anything else, before Adrianna reacted.

“Oh shi—” Stiles started, but never finished. Quick as a viper, Adrianna pounced on the spastic boy, capturing his neck and bony cranium in a head lock as the pale teen uselessly fought for control.

His shoes squeaked against the newly buffed tiles as Adrianna began to drag her unfortunate victim in the direction of the holding cells. Her nearly eidetic memory recalled in superb detail the path towards her destination, according to the maps Gerard had forced her to study.

As the duo slowly made their way further into the station, Adrianna's attention was drawn elsewhere, towards the depression in her chest and the sudden urge to simply snap Stiles' neck and leave the bothersome teen to die.

It was in this moment of conflict that Stiles took advantage of his captor's slackened grasp to pull one of the fire alarms that were stationed at random intervals on the walls.

Instantly, wailing sirens flashed to life inside the station, alerting all within it to the disturbance that was yet to unfold. “Damn it.” Adrianna cursed angrily, feeling her grip tightening painfully on Stiles' shoulders but not having the strength of will to force herself to stop. 

Quickening her pace, she located the door leading to the holding cells and barged inside, dropping Stiles harshly to the ground as she assessed the surprising sight before her.

The holding cell's door, which appeared to be solid metal with a small, glass window that permitted whomever was inside a slight view of the outside world, was crumbled and ripped off it's hinges. It was clear to Adrianna what had happened. Glancing to her left, outside the Sheriff's station, she mentally cursed the risen moon that shone brightly outside.

“Where is it?” She angrily asked the boy lying near her feet. “Where is the werewolf?”

Fear like none other she'd felt forced her lungs to inhale raggedly and her heart to pump twice as fast as it needed to. If she failed, there would be no telling what Gerard would do to her. She remembered what had happened when she'd failed the first time, during the time when her mother, Kate, had been training her. Her fingernails still stung even now.

Stiles—although in the short amount of time she'd observed him interacting with his best friend, Scott, seemed to be a talkative young man—was silent beneath her. If she hadn't heard his ragged breathing, she would have doubted whether he was still conscious.

“Answer me.” She demanded, on the verge of losing all of her remaining restraint. She crouched down to his level and dared him to defy her once more, but what she found in his eyes was not what she'd expected.

Fear was alive and consuming the sixteen-year-old, but it was not fear of her. No. He was staring, rendered immobile and apparently speechless, at something directly behind her.

“You've got to be kidding me.” She whispered to herself as she understood exactly what Stiles was looking at.

Adrianna measured her breaths and tried to keep her heart-rate steady as she slowly reached for her sword. A deep, rumbling growl halted her movements as the hot breath of the werewolf behind her, brushed over her exposed neck.

Springing to her feet with amazing reflexes, Adrianna was not fast enough to escape the speed of a werewolf. Claws and a solid body slammed into her, knocking the air out of her lungs, as the beast pushed her body backwards and sent her flying through the air to collide with the brick wall close to the windows allowing moonlight inside.

Her bones ached terribly and she was certain that one or two ribs had been snapped in the fall. It was not enough to kill her, but more than enough to slow her down.

“Vlakas!” She accused herself stonily as she lay there, trying to absorb the pain that shot throughout her body. “You're going to wish you'd never done that.” She told the werewolf before her as she climbed to her feet, having to kneel over and use her arms and legs to help herself.

An angry roar was all the response that the werewolf gave her, but it was more than enough for Adrianna's blood to boil and her strength to return. Her mother's voice rang in her head, encouraging her to finish him off. Swiftly picking up the fallen wolfsbane and pocketing it in Kate's old leather jacket, she pulled her sword from it's scabbard and prepared to fight to the death at the same time the werewolf charged her.

Nimbly swerving out of his way, Adrianna brought her sword down in a wide arc over top of the confused werewolf and felt immense pleasure as the steel and celestial bronze blade sliced into the beast's flesh like it was butter.

The werewolf howled in pain before whirling on Adrianna with surprising speed. His claws extended and she barely had enough time to dodge the blow before it could reduce her to ribbons and gore.

Her sword felt strangely light in her hands—lighter than it ever had—but she paid it no mind, believing that the adrenaline rushing through her body was responsible for her strange reservoir of endurance.

“Come on!” Adrianna taunted the wolf, bouncing on her toes, spoiling for a release of the murderous thoughts she'd previously had to quell. Now she felt no need to do so. It was as if she'd bottled up her compassion and released all her rage and oppression onto the monster that had dared to challenge the daughter of Katherine Argent and Death himself.

Her arrogance was her undoing.

Somehow, as Adrianna arced her sword under the wolf's armpit to deliver a near fatal blow, the werewolf was able to claw at her arms and tear the flesh adjacent to her wrists, causing her to drop the broadsword in shock and pain.

Her blood, a rusty bronze colour, dripped down her palms and splattered onto the ground. It made her physically sick to see it and she felt the distinct urge to vomit there and then. The sheer metallic, coppery scent of her own ichor overwhelmed her senses and black spots danced before her eyes even before the werewolf had smashed her head against the tile floor she'd fallen onto.

A scream stole out of her lips. It sounded inhuman—deranged. Adrianna closed her eyes as the werewolf slammed her temple again and again, with the cracking and blood-stained tiles beneath her. She wished she was dreaming; could almost feel her mother's strong arms enclosing around her waist and planting a delicate kiss on her nose as she slept.

Through the pain and fear, Adrianna remembered the syringe filled with wolfsbane which pressed irritably against her shattered ribs. With shaking fingers, still being dealt concussive blows to the head, Adrianna reached into her pocket and grabbed hold of the vial which may have very well been the difference between life and death for her.

Clenching her teeth together, she felt blood fill her mouth as she accidentally bit her tongue. Enough was enough. She was the hunter here—not the other way around. It was time to teach this werewolf a lesson.

With power she didn't know she had, Adrianna rolled over and pushed the werewolf off of her, still holding on firmly to the poisonous lilac mixture and rose to her unsteady feet.

The world tilted around her but the werewolf directly in front of her, staring at her with glowing yellow eyes filled with hate and murderous intent, was solid and real. She lifted the syringe in her hand and took a deep breath, forcing her mind to quiet and her thoughts to arrange themselves.

As her verdant gaze locked onto supernatural yellow, Adrianna prepared herself for another murder at her hands, only this time, she was solely concerned with what her grandfather would think, and not how she'd live with the knowledge that she'd killed a werewolf who had yet to take an innocent life.

Just as she licked her lips and prepared to take action, a heavy force collided with her unsteady hand and her weakened fingers permitted the wolfsbane to tumble out of her clenched fist. Something rock solid and extremely powerful struck her full-force in the chest and once more, Adrianna crumpled to the floor.

Indistinctly, as though the sound was distorted through gallons of water, she heard a mighty roar which she knew to have come from an Alpha werewolf. Her mind was unsettled and jumbled but she could just barely understand the garbled voices speaking above her.

“How'd you do that?” She heard a terrified Stiles ask as he switched his stare from the alpha above her, to the increasing puddle of blood she was lying in.

“I'm the Alpha.” An arrogant voice responded. 

She mentally marked them as her next target as she delved deep within herself with every ounce of her remaining will and found that she was able to stand, although wobbly, to face the double threat without any wolfsbane and without her sword, although she had one last trick up her sleeve.

Reaching beneath the jacket which Gerard had bequeathed to her from her mother's things, Adrianna pulled a pistol loaded with celestial bronze bullets. She wasn't certain that they would kill a werewolf, but she did know that her sword had worked, so it was highly likely that they'd at least wound the pair.

As Derek Hale twisted to face the huntress, coincidentally standing so that his own body would shield his beta, his claws extended and his eyes glowed ruby red. He roared loudly, just as he had before, but this time, it sounded much more powerful to Adrianna, and much angrier.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” She warned the Alpha who was preparing to strike. “These bullets aren't exactly what you're used to.” She hinted, smiling at the irony of the situation. Her mother had always told her that guns were the most effective against werewolves. Up until now, she hadn't believed her.

Tilting his head and narrowing his hateful eyes, Derek growled in response as he remained defensive. “Go on then,” He goaded in a tone that told Adrianna he thought he already knew what she was going to do. “Shoot us.” He told her sourly.

Pulling off the safety and loading a bullet into the chamber of the .35 calibre pistol she'd had Charles Beckendorf customize bullets for, Adrianna aimed the gun straight at Derek's head. Perhaps he would heal, perhaps he wouldn't. The young huntress searched deep within herself and found only a void of callousness and cruelty.

She didn't care, either way. It should have scared her but it didn't. Nothing did, right then. Not even Gerard.

But then, the beta, who was now fully human thanks to his Alpha's correction, walked out from behind Derek and Adrianna got a good look at him—as a person—for the first time that night.

He was tall, more than six feet, with a head of blonde, curly hair, and cheekbones she knew her mother would have told her could cut glass. He could not have been older than sixteen.

The gun wavered in her hands as Adrianna's brow furrowed in confusion. Gerard had never told her who the werewolf was, but she had foolishly assumed that her grandfather would not deem it necessary to kill anyone that wasn't guilty and aware of their decision.

This boy, who was just as old as she, didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. Adrianna could tell by the wideness of his clear, honest, blue eyes and the paleness of his face. He was afraid—of her no less.

Swallowing thickly, Adrianna's gaze drifted back to Derek, but what she saw now, without the darkness clouding her sight, was very different to the Derek her mother had told her so much about.

He was tall, muscular, strong—she'd even admit that he was handsome—yes, but his claws were idle at his sides and his bluish green, human eyes were distrustful and defensive. He was only protecting his pack. The seductive monster her mother had described to her was nowhere in sight.

“Go.” She choked out, hardly registering the word as it slipped past her bloody, chapped lips.

The others stood perfectly still, as though her decision would be altered with the change of the wind, and they were afraid to evoke her wrath once more. She saw Derek exchange a confused glance with his beta and the human boy behind her.

“What?” He asked, and the harshness of his voice echoed in the empty holding cell.

“Go.” Adrianna repeated, dropping her gun to the floor as if the metal physically stung her flesh. It clattered loudly, but still, the wolves did not leave.

“I don't understand,” Derek breathed uncertainly. “You're letting us go?” He asked once more.

“Just go.” Adrianna muttered defeatedly, the injuries from her brawl with the beta finally catching up to her, making it difficult to stand and breath and think. Pain shot through her head and her patience ran thin.

“Run!” She screamed in frustration, using what was left of her breath to demand their compliance. Already she dreaded the consequences of her foolish actions, but before she could dwell too much on her pain now, and the pain she had yet to feel, Adrianna's sight became blurry and she lost consciousness, falling to the floor in a heap.

She didn't hear Isaac Lahey thanking her, but she smiled in her sleep, as though she was pleased with herself for resisting her grandfather's manipulations, at least this once.


	3. Ice Pick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warning for abuse

Her hands were bound in front of her chest and her head was wrapped in an uncomfortable burlap sack. She knew how this would go—it had happened enough times now that she could predict what it would feel like to have her head submerged beneath water against her will.

It didn't do anything to prepare her when it actually happened. It never did.

The cloth stuck to her face as her grandfather's strong arms pushed her head below the water level. She held her breath at first, but eventually, her lungs scorched all the way up her trachea and forced a harsh scream from her sealed lips, creating frothy bubbles on the surface of the basin.

Overhead, the electricity flickered as Adrianna flexed her fingers into fists and tried to break free of the zip ties holding her captive. She thrashed her body this way and that, but her grandfather did not relent. Her heart beat so loudly in her head, she feared that all the blood would burst forth from her body and kill her in an instant.

She couldn't think straight and every time she struggled, her strength waned until she could barely fight at all. Heavy lead seemed to weigh her lungs down and the broken ribs she hadn't had the opportunity to treat felt as though they were skewering the soft fleshy sacks each time she tried to inhale, only to get a nose full of water.

It had crossed her mind, over the last hour and a half, that perhaps this time, Gerard would actually kill her. Without Kate to step in and take over, there was no one to stop him or permit her a respite. Chris, who—each time she was allowed to come up for air and could vaguely make out the shapes and voices around her—was standing by and calmly watching from the other side of the room, didn't seem as though he had any desire to help her out of this mess.

Finally, after another torturous minute had passed, she felt the pressure on her neck lessen as her grandfather stood back, untied her hands, and watched Adrianna as she pushed her upper body out of the basement sink and desperately ripped the bag off her head.

She coughed and hacked for a long time, trying to quench the fire in her lungs with air that felt strangely foreign entering her body. Her legs trembled, knees clacking together, and her silent cries were only muffled by the immense inhalations she committed to religiously as her tears burned trails into her cheeks.

“Have you learned your lesson?” She heard Gerard ask from the opposite side of the room, standing beside his son.

Adrianna didn't have the strength to reply, so she simply nodded rigorously. Her soaked through hair slapped against her back, moistening her blouse and fell in front of her overturned face, shielding her pinched expression from view. She did not feel ready to stand upright yet. She doubted she could face either of the Argent men in the room without feeling the need to bawl like a child, or slit their throats.

“I trust this little—mishap—will not happen again.” Gerard continued, threading his fingers together thoughtfully. “You know the consequences should you fail a second time.” He reminded her ominously.

“Yes, sir.” Adrianna stiffly voiced. Her fingernails had dug crescent moons into the palms of her hands which stung painfully but did not bleed heavily. Hatred simmered beneath the surface in the young woman's eyes, and it was a lucky thing that her grandfather chose to take his leave before Adrianna had the courage to lift her head, for her punishment would have certainly been a thousand times more severe for her defiance.

Her eyes found her uncle's, instead, and the man took a physical step back when he saw what Gerard had brought out of his niece. There was an immense, blackened bruise colouring the side of her head and a split adorning her lower lip. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her pale face dripped water. The tap, tap, of said water, was the only sound made in the basement at that time.

“You coward.” Adrianna's taut voice shattered the silence. She was like a tightly coiled spring; ready to snap at a moment's notice. “Damn you.” She spat at her uncle, all traces of the respect she'd had for him when they'd first met, incinerated.

“Adrianna,” Chris started, voice thick with shame. “I didn't know.” He tried to excuse. “You have to believe me.” He pleaded sadly. “I didn't know he would do this to you.”

Grating laughter spilled out of her sore throat, filled with mocking sympathy. “Oh Chris,” She mimed brokenly. “Of course I believe you—” She trailed off, staring at a spot on the wall beside her uncle, too disgusted to look at him any longer.

“Is that what you want me to say?” She yelled abruptly, startling the other Argent so much that he jolted further away from her.

“I—” Chris tried to say, unable to form a coherent explanation that would be good enough, even to his own ears.

“Just go away.” Adrianna muttered dourly. “That's what you're good at, isn't it? Abandoning your family.”

“Who told you that?” Her uncle roughly questioned, stepping closer, forgetting his fear and indignity. “Was it Kate?”

Shaking her head, Adrianna pushed herself away from the basin, standing to her full height. Blood stained her clothes and her wrists were mottled with bruises and scratches. “I don't need my dead mother to tell me something I can clearly see for myself.” She explained with the intention to share a little bit of her pain.

It worked. Chris shook his head apologetically and backed away, leaving Adrianna alone in the basement with her thoughts. Despite everything she'd had to endure, she knew in her tainted heart that letting Derek and his beta go had been the right call.

_Isaac,_ she remembered her grandfather telling her after she'd returned home. _His name is Isaac._

A small smile, so out of place on the abused girl's face, wriggled it's way onto her features. She quite liked that name— _Isaac._

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

Inspecting her pristine, manicured nails, Lydia disinterestedly watched as Allison and Scott steadily ascended the climbing wall in their school's gym. The strange, morose girl that was living with Allison, Lydia thought her name might have been Adrianna, was standing off the side of the assembled group with her dark brown, wavy hair loosely hanging in front of her face.

Lydia could tell just by looking at her that something wasn't right. The way she held herself, favouring her left side, proved that she was uncomfortable, if not in pain. The real question was why a girl that Lydia hadn't even been properly introduced to, that wasn't nearly pretty enough to warrant her interest on looks alone, had captured her attention for the better half of this entire morning.

“McCall,” Lydia heard coach's voice echo through the gym, but her stare didn't move. “I don't know why, but your pain gives me a special kind of joy. Right?” The eccentric man concluded, waving on the next pair to tackle the rock wall. “All right, next two. Stilinski, Erica, let's go.” He called out dramatically, far too excited to be deemed normal. “The wall.”

She was fidgeting, Lydia keenly noticed. All day she'd been an ice wall of carefully crafted indifference, but right then, as the spastic freckled boy who'd been trying to win Lydia's heart for years and the frizzy haired, blonde, epileptic girl began to strap into their harnesses, Adrianna's facade cracked.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her hands refused to stay idle at her sides. Her foot began tapping and she began to glance around the room wildly, as though she could perceive something no one else could.

Pushing through the crowd, away from where Allison and Scott had stationed themselves beside her, Lydia made her way next to the confusing brunette.

“Something wrong?” She innocently said, still pretending to be entranced by her cuticles in the way Lydia knew all mean, beautiful, stupid girls were expected to do. “Because you'll hurt your neck if you keep turning it around like that.” She added, directing her full attention to the annoyed girl pretending, with little success, to be unaffected by Lydia's comments.

“Why would you care?” Allison's—something—snapped, narrowing her gaze on the red head who now had a satisfied little smile twisting her pretty red lips.

“Oh, no reason.” Lydia lied. Or at least, it felt like a lie. “I just wanted to get to know you, seeing as we're both friends with Allison.” She told the other girl, pointedly glancing in Allison's direction. “You are friends with her, aren't you?” She asked curiously.

Sighing heavily, Lydia could tell that Adrianna didn't want to be bothered, and yet, the girl's posture seemed to relax as she began to converse with her. Everything about Adrianna, it seemed, was a contradiction.

“She's my cousin,” Adrianna explained as she stared intently at the duo climbing the wall before them. Stiles was doing well, nearly at the top, but Erica was struggling, holding onto the rope with white knuckles and no longer making any progress. “So yeah, I kind of have to be friends with her.” She finished quietly, beginning to walk towards the wall, clearly distracted by the winded girl clutching onto the wall for dear life, and no longer invested in talking with Lydia.

“Erica.” The coach called up as Adrianna, followed by a slightly perturbed Lydia, stationed themselves beside him. “Dizzy? Is it vertigo?” He asked her. Lydia couldn't contain herself from rolling her eyes, no matter how childish her mother always reminded her it was.

“Vertigo's a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear.” She informed the coach, crossing her arms over her chest proudly. “She's just freaking out.” Lydia simplified when the man stared at her dumbly, clearly bewildered. 

“Erica.” Said a calm, feminine voice, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter in the gym. Looking around her, Lydia realized that it was Adrianna speaking.

“I'm fine.” The stranded girl whimpered as Stiles clambered off the mat and joined their group.

“Coach, maybe it's not safe.” Allison spoke up, clearly becoming concerned. “You know she's epileptic.”

“Why doesn't anybody tell me this stuff?” Finstock complained, running a hand through his spiked hair, irate. “I have to get—Erica” He started to instruct the terrified girl. “Y-you're find. Just—just kick off from the wall.” He stuttered.

Breaking out of the crowd, Adrianna stood at the edge of the mat, staring up at the girl. “Erica, I need you to listen to me.” She told her, taking charge of the situation.

A slow nod was all she got as a response but Lydia knew that it was all Erica could manage right then. Fear paralysis was more common than anyone thought, even though it was brought about by a person's own brain and often attributed to a hyperactive imagination.

“Close your eyes.” The tall girl commanded, not an ounce of doubt or fear in her voice—unlike the coach. “Think of something else. Remember something pleasant.” She continued in a calm, soothing voice. Lydia wondered whether Allison's cousin was a hypnotist—it certainly wouldn't have been the strangest thing she'd heard of.

“O-okay.” Erica agreed, snapping her eyes shut tightly.

“Good.” Adrianna encouraged, stepping onto the mat. “Now I want you to loosen your grip on the rope—but only a little. Can you do that for me, Erica?” She asked, moving to stand directly beneath the girl.

All around her, Lydia noticed that the other students, including the coach, Allison, and Scott, were quietly watching the scene unfold. There was a delicate balance about the way Adrianna was handling the situation, that even Lydia could see was working.

“Yeah.” Erica hesitantly answered, stiffening her upper body as her hands slowly relaxed around the rope.

“Now move your feet, like you're walking backwards.” Adrianna called out. “I'm right beneath you. If you slip; I'll catch you.” She reassured.

Slowly, inch by inch, Erica lowered herself to the ground. As her feet finally touched the plushy mat, Lydia watched as Adrianna placed a comforting hand on the teen's shoulder before whispering something in her ear.

“See, you're fine!” The coach exclaimed, relieved. “You're on the ground.” He praised. “You're all right. Let's go.” He encouraged brusquely, as best as he could. “Shake it off. You're alright.”

Finally taking note of all the eyes that had been watching her, Erica curled in on herself before sprinting away, leaving Adrianna standing by herself. Some of the jocks near the back of the gym began laughing. Lydia felt a little bit sorry for Erica, but she knew there was nothing she could do. Kids were mean—it was just a fact of life.

Adrianna, apparently, hadn't gotten the message, as she stalked up to the towering walls of muscle and smiled falsely at them. “What's so funny, guys?” She questioned sweetly.

Lydia was irked to realize it was the same tone she had used when she was mocking others.

The confused idiots glanced at each other pridefully, raising their eyebrows and sweeping their lustful gazes over Adrianna's entire form. Lydia found her respect for the girl increasing as she held her ground, despite the slight quiver of her clenched fists.

“Were you laughing at Erica?” She trailed on-wards. Lydia knew Allison's cousin had to have had a point. “The girl who just faced one of her worst fears.”

“That'd be the one.” One of the jocks replied, grinning toothily.

“Oh,” Adrianna pronounced in a demeaning tone. “Good.”

And then her fist connected with the older boy's nose and blood sprayed across her cheeks as the jock screamed out in pain. He clutched at the broken appendage pathetically, blubbering and crying through the pain. His friends gathered around him, watching Adrianna warily. None were brave enough to cross her.

“Next time you laugh at someone that's not as strong as you.” She spat acidly. “Remember what it feels like to be publicly humiliated by a girl half your size.”

She walked away unscathed, save for a detention Lydia knew Coach Finstock wouldn't want to give out, but would be forced to, if he wanted to keep his job.

Behind her, Lydia saw Scott, Allison and Stiles exchange equally worried looks. She hated it when they made her feel like she was out of the loop, but it was happening so often, she knew there'd come a time when she couldn't ignore it any longer.

Today would not be that day.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

“What do you mean tonight's not a good idea?” Stiles defensively demanded. He seriously didn't want to believe that his best friend—which was also pretty much his _only_ friend—was going to bail on him when he needed him most.

“I don't know.” Scott replied, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “That thing that we saw last night, Isaac missing, Allison's cousin—Gerard.” Simply by mentioning Adrianna, Stiles' felt his spine tingle. He couldn't understand how she was still alive, and attending school, after she'd nearly bled out on the floor of the Sheriff's station.

“All this stuff happening with Derek,” Scott continued. “I just—it doesn't feel right.” He explained.

“No.” Stiles flatly denied. “You're not backing out. Do you wanna know why?” He questioned rhetorically, not even waiting for Scott to answer. “Because you and Allison are obviously having quite a good time together. And you know who else wants to have a good time? Stiles!” He told his friend exasperatedly.

“Stiles wants to have a good time.” He spoke of himself in the third person, gaining a smirk from Scott. “Many, many times. Several times in a row. In several different positions.” He ranted, only to notice that Scott wasn't paying attention to him anymore. He was staring off into space, tilting his head to the right.

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked tiredly. Scott's expression became concerned and then fearful. “What?” Stiles voiced, running after his friend as he bolted out of the locker room.

“What is that?” He finished as Scott rushed to the gym and caught someone at the bottom of the climbing wall, just before they collided with the solid ground.

Out of nowhere, Allison and Adrianna appeared as Scott lowered Erica to the ground. She was shaking and convulsing.

“Put her on her side.” Adrianna commanded loudly, reaching out to do so herself. “Put her on her side.” She repeated as more people filed into the gym to see what the commotion was about.

“How did you guys know?” Stiles heard Allison ask, glancing between the two, surprised.

“I just felt it.” Scott replied, but that wasn't the answer that stiffened Stiles' bones and made his blood turn to ice.

“She was going to die.” Adrianna whispered under her breath, holding a finger against the other girl's throat to check her pulse.

Stiles wondered how it was that a human hunter such as she, could have possibly known whether Erica was on the verge of death or not. That, combined with her miraculous recovery from nearly exsanguinating last night, was enough to set a fire in Stiles' mind.

He had to find out the truth. He had to know what Adrianna Argent was hiding because he had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't exactly who, and what, she appeared to be.

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

After following her cousin, who had ran out of the girl's locker room faster than Allison had been able to change out of her gym clothes, and discovering that Erica was having a seizure, Allison had promptly decided that she would stay by Adrianna's side for the remainder of the school day.

It wasn't everyday that you found out you had a cousin you never knew about, who disappeared in the middle of the night—coincidentally at the same time a hunter was sent out to kill Isaac—who also had the ability to foretell when another human being was at risk; just like her not-boyfriend Scott, who was also a werewolf.

So, setting down her lunch tray next to the girl in question and biting into a crisp apple, Allison began conversation with her frosty relative. “So,” She awkwardly interceded as the other girl reluctantly glanced up from her Algebra textbook, which she'd been studying since they'd had the class this morning. “Where are you from? Kate never talked about you.” She finished, mentally kicking herself for delving into such an uncomfortable topic.

Glaring, Adrianna snapped the book shut before languidly replacing it in the bag at her feet. Allison knew what the other girl was doing—making her stew in her embarrassment for as long as she could—but she couldn't find that she blamed her too much for it.

“I'm from New York.” Adrianna finally informed her, smiling tightly. “And my mother Kate never talked about me because, to everyone outside of the Argent family, I do not exist.”

Furrowing her brow, Allison took another bite out of her apple as she mulled over her cousin's words. “But I'm an Argent.” She thought aloud. “And I didn't know about you.”

Smiling with saccharine coated lies, Adrianna patted Allison's empty hand. “I know sweetie,” She told her, and Allison was eerily reminded of her late aunt Kate. “But I wasn't talking about the family in general; more what it stands for.” She explained.

“Oh,” Allison realized. “You mean because I wasn't a hunter.”

Nodding her head, her cousin snatched a bottle of water off Allison's tray and cracked open the lid before taking a generous sip. “Yes,” She agreed. “Because you _aren't_ a hunter.” She subtly corrected.

Despite her best intentions, Allison felt her irritation rising. All she was trying to do was be nice to a girl she'd never met before. _Can't she at least be nice to me,_ Allison wondered.

“I've started my training.” Allison informed the brunette beside her, temporarily forgetting about Stiles and Scott, who were just two tables down from them.

“That's too bad.” Adrianna sympathetically replied. There was a darkness to her voice that Allison had never heard before. She wondered why the other huntress was so bleak all the time. Perhaps it had something to do with the way their grandfather kept her so close.

“Did I say something to you?” Allison queried, finally having enough of her cousin's bitterness and mocking sweetness. “Because you seem to have something against me. I know what it's like—” She started, only to be interrupted mid-sentence.

“What do you know about me?” Adrianna caustically accused, whirling on her cousin angrily. “You don't know the half of what I've been through. What it takes to be Gerard's darling and Kate's daughter.” She snapped.

Allison would have defended herself. She would have explained her situation with Scott and the other hunters—how her entire family had lied to her for seventeen years before they were forced to tell her the truth—but as her cousin had faced her, she'd noticed one of two things.

The first was the dark blue and black bruise that mottled her left temple, along with the red, swollen skin that surrounded it, to the point were it was nearly unrecognizable. That in itself was enough to render her speechless.

The second thing she noticed, was the way Adrianna's eyes watered, as though she was on the verge of crying, and she remembered how her aunt's fiery temper had often resulted in strange outbursts of anger, as opposed to the grief she was really feeling.

For the first time since meeting her cousin, Allison remembered that, while she'd lost an aunt, Adrianna had lost a mother, and that was an entirely different burden to carry.

Her heart swelled with pity and sympathy for the girl beside her, and, before she could think better of it, Allison grabbed hold of her cousin's fisted hand and ran her smooth fingers over the other girl's battle-roughened knuckles.

“Your right,” Allison told her, smiling through watery eyes as she felt her cousin's pain like she did her own. “I don't know anything about you.” She admitted, surprising Adrianna so much that she permitted her to continue holding her hand.

“But I'm trying to learn,” Allison gently reminded her. “I want to understand. I want to help you.” Beneath her palm, Allison felt Adrianna's fingers shaking and fat tears collected at the bottom of her eyelashes. “When you're ready, we can be friends.”

Crying properly now, Adrianna released an amused puff of air from her nostrils, not bothering to wipe away the salty tears. “Alright.” She croaked, squeezing Allison's hand. “I'd like that.” She continued, sounding stronger already.

“Good.” Allison smiled, happy to retract her hand as the other girl released her and continue to chew on her apple.

Across from her, she heard Stiles telling Scott that he'd gotten the keys to the ice rink and an idea blossomed in her head.

“Are you free tonight?” She asked the fully composed brunette beside her. She didn't even have time to wonder how Adrianna put herself back together so fast before she responded.

“Yes,” She said in the same dark tone as before. “I'm not doing anything.”

Continuing cheerfully, Allison smiled at Scott, Stiles and Lydia as they approached and sat down at their otherwise deserted table. “Why don't you come to the ice rink with us?” She asked her cousin, not really caring that she'd surprised Scott and Stiles with the invitation. Adrianna was family—hunter or not—and that meant that the girl could partake in anything she liked.

Her cousin thought for a moment, appraising each of Allison's friend's reactions to the sudden exclamation, before coming to a decision.

“Sure,” She accepted. “I think I'd like that.”

Staring at her boyfriend, Allison silently pleaded with him to agree. Eventually, after changing his expression several times, he gave in, turning to do the same to his best friend, who took a bit more convincing.

“Oh alright,” Stiles reluctantly agreed. “Pick you up right after work tonight and we'll meet at the rink, cool?” He asked Scott, who was looking over the cafeteria, at the double doors that led to the rest of the school.

Allison wondered why Scott hadn't answered, so she, like Stiles and Adrianna, turned to see what her boyfriend was so intently staring at. It wasn't a what, so much as a who.

Strutting into the cafeteria with high heels, tight leggings and a leather jacket, not to mention sleek, curly hair and a voluptuous figure, what could only be described as a super model, took an apple from a nearby boy's hand before biting into it seductively. Allison felt dread collect in her gut as she tossed her own half-eaten apple onto her tray.

“What—the holy hell—is that?” Lydia haltingly asked, voicing everyone else's thoughts.

“It's Erica.” Scott realized at the same time Allison understood what had happened to the shy, epileptic girl. She was a werewolf now—a part of Derek Hale's growing pack. Allison wondered what her grandfather would think if he knew everything that what was really going on in Beacon Hills. 

**_#-#-#-#-#_ **

When Scott had reluctantly agreed to go with Allison, Stiles and Lydia to the local ice rink, he had not wanted Allison's cousin, the girl who'd bisected an omega right before his eyes and might do the same to him if he wasn't careful, to come along. But Allison had asked him, and although many others considered him to be a bit dull when it came to pretty much everything, Scott knew that when your girlfriend asked you for something, you did it.

So here he was, tying up his ice skates and keeping an eye on the strangely happy huntress who was doing the same. It didn't feel right to him. She was the enemy, _his_ enemy, and spending time with her—getting to know her—felt like he was not only betraying Derek, but his entire species.

“Could it be any colder in here?” He heard Lydia complaining as an overeager Stiles offered her his sweater. Two benches below them, only a few meters away from him, Adrianna laughed as the redhead explained to a very confused Stiles how to coordinate fabric colours.

“He's completely in love with her,” Adrianna stated as she stood up, now wearing her skates, and hobbled towards the ice rink entrance. “Isn't he?” Before either one of them could giver her answer, she had already pushed herself onto the ice, giggling as her feet slid underneath her and she steadied her balance, moving towards the rail for more security.

Allison's content smile was almost enough for Scott to forget about the unfortunate compromise he'd agreed to. _Almost_. “Is there a reason you invited her?” He couldn't stop himself from asking, immediately regretting it as Allison's smile melted away to a frustrated sigh.

“She's lonely.” Allison told him, staring out onto the ice as Adrianna practiced twirling, only to fall flat onto her back. Her sharp laugh echoed through the empty arena. Scott could hardly believe that this was the same girl he'd seen murdering a werewolf—the same girl who'd been closed-off and angry every time he saw her at school.

“It's just,” Scott began, trying to find a way to tell Allison that Adrianna was not a good person, without insulting her personally. “She's a hunter.” He fumbled. “I've seen her do some pretty mean stuff. I don't see how she could be your friend, especially since Kate was her mother.” He added sheepishly. Scott could just hear his mother's voice reprimanding him for judging a person by their family.

Allison's eyebrow raised in a disapproving gesture that further reminded Scott of his mother. Whenever a woman took on that look, it was probably best not to argue with them.

“Scott, she's not _just_ a hunter. She's a person.” Allison reminded him, slipping her hand into his. “I loved my aunt, but I know what she's done, I know she wasn't a good person.” She shared. Scott kept quiet as his girlfriend continued. “Just think about it.” She urged him. “Can you imagine growing up with Kate as your mother? No wonder she's—” Allison searched for the right word, but couldn't find it.

“Give her a chance.” She told Scott, tightening her grip on his palm affectionately. “She's already giving you one.” She pointed out to him as they both turned to watch Adrianna, weaponless and beginning to look decades younger, skating across the ice.

“Alright.” Scott agreed, giving Allison a quick kiss on the cheek. “For you.” He told her.

Before he could fully stand up from the bench, Allison hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him in for a deep, thankful kiss on the lips.

“Thank you.” She breathed against his cheeks.

Scott fought the hot blush forming across his face and smiled happily at Allison. Deep in his heart, he wondered if this was what love felt like. He'd never really seen it in action, with his parent's divorcing when he was still a young boy.

“Since you've never skated before,” Allison spoke up, breaking apart from him to lead him by the hand onto the ice. “Maybe I should give you a few pointers?” She suggested.

“Allison,” He gently reminded, feeling the intensity of his emotions fading into the background as he realized that his girlfriend didn't think he could skate. “Not that this is news to you or anything, but you remember the werewolf thing?” He muttered quietly, making certain that the huntress across the rink couldn't hear him. “Super speed, strength and reflexes.” He continued, shrugging off her concern.

“So a little ice skating should be no problem.” Allison reason with him, clearly amused, as she glided onto the ice in front of him.

“Yeah,” He cockily remarked, taking his first steps onto the slippery, frozen surface beneath him. “See? It's not problem—ugh!” He grunted abruptly as he fell to the ground. “Maybe.” He hesitantly corrected, looking up at a very smug Allison who was trying her best not to smile.

“Well?” Lydia called as she flew past them into the middle of the rink. Stiles clumsily followed her, trying to keep up. “Come on.” She beckoned.

Breathing deeply, Scott prepared himself for the possibility that he'd be making an even bigger fool of himself within the next hour than he had now.

“Okay, you got it.” Allison encouraged him as he got to his feet for the third time in a row. “You got it. You got—” She broke off with a cringe as he crashed to the ground painfully.

Scratch that. He prepared himself for the certainty that he'd be making a total fool of himself within the next hour than he had in his entire life. _This is going to be a long day_ , Scott realized.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Tell us everything.” Gerard commanded the next evening after school, sitting down at the kitchen island alongside Victoria and Chris. Allison had already retreated to her room but Adrianna had not been so lucky. Now she would be forced to tell the hunters every detail of her time with Lydia at the ice rink, or face the consequences she knew far too well.

“It was fun,” She began, taking the empty seat across from the trio staring at her intently. Victoria seemed surprised by the girl's very human response. Ever since the day in the car with the Principal, Victoria had probably assumed that the girl was no more than the supernatural creatures they hunted.

Smiling shyly at her aunt, Adrianna continued, threading her fingers together to keep them still as she lied. “Nothing extraordinary happened.” She told them calmly. “I really don't see why you're interested in Lydia at all. To me, she seems like the most normal sixteen-year-old of all of Allison's friends.” She added thoughtfully, clacking her overgrown nails against the granite counters.

“We're interested in her because of Peter Hale.” Gerard carelessly informed Adrianna. Beneath the table, her knees tensed and she could feel her pulse skyrocket. Peter Hale was not someone she wanted to think about right then, or ever, for that matter.

“She was bitten by him at the winter formal,” Chris took over explaining, refusing to meet Adrianna's sharp gaze. “Since then, we've had no indication that she'd turned. It's concerning to say the least.”

“Why?” The brunette rudely questioned, daring her uncle to stamp down her defiance. “Lydia Martin is _human_ ,” She stressed impatiently. “And she will remain that way as long as I can help it.”

“You're not getting attached to this girl, are you?” Gerard intervened between the one-way staring contest. His voice sent shivers cascading down Adrianna's spine. She could now say, without a shadow of a doubt, that her grandfather scared her out of her wits, just about as much as she knew she hated him.

“Is it so wrong for me to have friends?” Adrianna replied, meeting eyes with the eldest Argent. “How am I supposed to be your loyal spy if Lydia doesn't at least trust me?”

Remaining silent, Gerard sat back in his chair, refusing to grace his granddaughter with an answer. Adrianna took it as another win.

“Just tell us how it went, from the beginning.” Victoria snapped irritably, obviously growing tired of the pointless banter between the rebellious huntress and her superiors.

“Alright.” Adrianna agreed with a heavy sigh, wiping her damp palms off on her jeans. “We were skating,” She explained, remembering in vivid detail the feeling of the ice beneath her skates and the crispness of the air.

**#-#**

_She couldn't remember ever having had this much fun in her entire life. As she clumsily propelled herself across the ice, watching as Lydia gracefully twirled and danced—as though the bumpy ice had turned to air beneath her skates—Adrianna felt for the first time since coming to Beacon Hills, that perhaps her entire family was not doomed after all._

_“How do you do that?” She asked Lydia, who slid to a perfect stop in front of the tired, but smiling girl. For now, her tag-along Stiles was not glued to her side. Adrianna knew that would soon change as she heard the uncoordinated teen approaching from a mile away._

_“Do what?” Lydia replied, turning on the spot to catch Stiles before he fell._

_The two girls smiled at each other. They weren't exactly being friendly, but they weren't hostile either. Something about the egotistical, narcissistic, falsely stupid redhead drew Adrianna in. Like she was an old friend Adrianna couldn't remember making._

_That was why it caught her attention when Lydia skated away from Stiles and her, only to stop in the middle of the rink and bend down to look at the ice._

_“Lydia?” Adrianna questioned, slightly concerned for the other girl's well-being. “What are you looking at?” She asked as she approached her kneeling form._

_Placing her hand on Lydia's shoulder, a jolt shot up the appendage and seemed to burn an image into Adrianna's retinas. Shutting her eyes, she stumbled before falling down with a harsh cry. Holding onto her head, she got onto her knees but instead of feeling the slippery, sharp ice beneath her fingers, she felt something soft and silky._

**#-#**

“Everything was normal.” She continued to tell, keeping her eyes focused ahead of her and her limbs perfectly still. “Lydia and I fell onto the ice one time, but besides that, it was a perfectly pleasant afternoon.”

**#-#**

_Opening her eyes fully, Adrianna furrowed her brows as she picked up a handful of light purple flower petals. “What the hell?” She wondered aloud, glancing over at Lydia who was already staring at her._

_“You see them too?” The redhead asked, sounding immensely relieved._

_Adrianna was too afraid as to why Lydia would have asked such a thing, to properly answer with anything but a mute nod. The pair crawled forwards on the ice, both somehow agreeing on an action without having to communicate it, following the trail of petals until they reached the stem of a large flower._

_A plant that Adrianna recognized as wolfsbane._

_Lydia reached out to touch the plant, but Adrianna felt a different calling. She scuffed at the ice, and soon, Lydia joined her, to reveal a body some two feet below them._

_Burn marks charred the man's face and neck, which were the only parts visible through the cloudy ice. As the figure suddenly came to life, shaking and shuddering, Adrianna's mind caught up with her eyes and she understood who the man beneath the ice was. Lydia screamed out of fear but Adrianna found herself paralyzed by it._

_Peter Hale's face stared up at her, eyes blank and unseeing, just like she knew her own mother's were—some ten feet beneath the ground in a coffin the very same man had put her in._

_Anger surged to the surface, shattering her momentary stupor and jolting her into action. The knife came out of her boot with more speed than she'd intended, and the blade sunk, hilt-deep, into the ice, shattering whatever spell Adrianna had been under and bringing her back to reality._

_Lydia was still screaming, struggling in Stiles' grasp as she cried out, terrified by what she'd seen. No one paid Adrianna any mind as she raced out of the arena and into the woods, breathing heavily._

_Her head buzzed strangely and her body twitched with the desire to murder Peter Hale for what he'd done to her mother. It was too bad for her that dead men couldn't be killed._

**#-#**

As Gerard, Victoria and Chris seemed to be satisfied by her shortened, immensely edited report, Adrianna was happy when they relieved her.

“You may go,” Her grandfather told her, exchanging a loaded glance with the others before she departed.

Adrianna didn't know why she'd lied to her family about what her and Lydia had seen, but somehow, she felt like it wouldn't have been right to breach Lydia's trust in such a way.

There was also the fact that Adrianna had a suspicion that seeing Peter and the wolfsbane at the ice rink, hadn't been the result of her powers, but of one supposedly naive and human Lydia Martin.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Derek!” Jackson called out loudly as he neared the burned out home of the reclusive werewolf, which he'd stupidly thought could grant him immeasurable strength and power, with just one bite.

“I know you can hear me. You owe me an explanation.” He continued, walking up the rickety steps of the porch—or what was left of the porch. “I wanna know why it—why it didn't work.” He said to the door in front of him. It was one of the only solid things left of the house.

He waited a minute, then two, before his patience wore thin. “Screw it.” He muttered angrily, forcing the door open with his shoulder and stumbling inside as the door gave way more easily than he'd anticipated.

“Holy—” He cut himself off as he took in the intimidating people that occupied the inside of the house.

He counted five men, including Allison Argent's father, along with a young girl he'd seen at school. All of them were heavily armed, some with guns, others with knives, but none more so than the girl. One look at the long, gleaming sword held readily at her side and the pair of sharp hunting knives strapped to either of her thighs, and Jackson didn't have any reservations about turning around and leaving the way he'd come.

“Wait.” Chris spoke up, halting the teen's escape from the compromising, if not deadly, situation.

Jackson felt his Adam's apple bobbing as he nervously walked over to the hunter, permitting the man to slap a hand over his shoulder and squeeze, like they were old friends.

“What happened to him?” He hesitantly asked Chris, looking around the burned out house but finding no trace of the werewolf he was searching for.

“That's a good question.” Chris nodded, walking both of them further inside the house, towards the stairwell leading to the remains of the second story. “I got one for you. What are you doing here, Jackson?”

Eyes flitting about the house and each hunter nervously, Jackson tried not to appear as guilty as he knew he probably did. The hunters didn't know Derek had given him the bite. He was safe. As long as he didn't screw it up.

“Um—nothing,” He began, regaining some of his usual arrogant bluntness. “I was—I was—I was just--” He struggled, clenching his fists tightly and cursing himself for being so easily rattled. “Nothing.” He bitterly forced himself to finish.

_Why do I have to be so weak?_ Jackson asked himself furiously. _Why do I have to make so many mistakes? Why do I have to be so_ human _?_

“Jackson,” Chris interrupted the sour teenager's self-hating ranting. “I hope you're not still pursuing something that you shouldn't be. Because I don't want to be forced to pursue you.” The hunter threatened, tightening his grasp on Jackson's neck to the point where the boy feared that he'd be suffocated.

“Stay out of this.” Chris warned him. “You've got so much good in your life.” He reminded him as he guided Jackson so that they stood beside the younger huntress he'd noticed before. “You're smart, good looking, you're captain of the lacrosse team.” He listed.

“Co-captain.” Jackson corrected acerbically.

Clapping his shoulder amicably, Chris wondered around the arrogant boy until he stood on the opposite side of the huntress and he. With narrowed eyes, Jackson's stare traveled between the two hunters.

The girl was pretty, but not like Lydia. She had a different kind of beauty to her. Like the way Jackson had found himself admiring sharp objects in a museum or even the unstable science experiments he was forced to recreate in class. It was as though she was on the verge of doing something to seriously harm him, and the severity of her gaze did nothing to quell the sudden pit of fear that had landed in his gut.

“Tell us, Jackson,” The girl spoke, her lightly freckled cheeks and clear green eyes reminded him of younger girls he'd often associated with being naive and carefree. In her leather jacket, tight jeans, and thickly applied eyeliner—not to mention the weapon she handled so casually—she was anything but. “What exactly did you mean when you said it didn't work?” She finished.

Jackson would have swallowed, even held up his hands in a surrendering gesture to find a way out of the situation he'd landed himself in, only the sword was millimeters from his neck and he knew that if he so much as breathed too deeply, he'd slit his own throat.

“Um...” He muttered nervously, glancing around the room but finding only enemies at every corner. “You wouldn't, by any chance, be another Argent—would you?” He asked tightly, refusing to look away from the shining blade too close for anyone's comfort.

“I'm afraid so,” She told him evenly, her rose coloured lips tilting up in a sly smile that sent shivers down Jackson's spine. He knew right then and there, that this girl was capable of much more than the others. “I don't think we've been properly introduced,” She extended, dropping the sword with an elegant twirl before sliding it into some sort of holster attached to her back.

“Adrianna Argent.” She informed him, reaching out her hand for him to shake. He took it cautiously, afraid of the manic gleam in the girl's eyes. “I'm Kate's daughter.” She added with a knowing look.

Jackson really wished he hadn't come here. He remembered what Kate had done to the Hale family. He hadn't known that Allison's aunt had been a mother, but seeing the fierceness of the teen before him and her obvious connection to hunting, he almost wished he was dealing with Kate instead.

At least then, he'd know what he was up against. With this new, unpredictable, frightening contender who—even more disturbingly—seemed to know exactly what she was doing, all bets were off.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He'd been thinking about her all day. The girl from the sheriff's station that he'd beaten to a pulp and tried to kill. The girl who'd spared his and Derek's lives when she'd had a gun pointed at their heads. The fact that he'd hurt her in self-defense didn't ease his guilt any.

Whatever he did, whether it was pacing, learning about his new abilities as a werewolf, or simply trying _not_ to think about her, the bloody huntress with a million different emotions in her eyes was always on his mind.

Erica had gone out and done things for Derek—what, he wasn't exactly sure, but he thought it had something to do with slowing Stiles down. Aside from right then, standing on the edge of the ice rink with Derek and Erica, he hadn't been able to go outside at all.

It probably had something to do with him being wanted for his father's murder.

Despite the normal reactions he'd had with the accusation and proceeding events—fear and anger being the most prominent—the thing that actually bothered Isaac the most about his current situation, funnily enough, was that he had absolutely no chance of distracting himself with something important enough to make him forget about the girl. Derek had told him she was an Argent—Adrianna Argent.

“Did Derek tell you everything?” He heard Scott McCall's voice echo off the ice as he continued to try to speak with the dark-skinned boy Derek had just recently bitten. “And I don't just mean going out of control on the full moons. I mean everything.”

“He told me about the hunters.” Boyd admitted, forcing Isaac's thoughts, once more, onto a very specific hunter. He wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and ignored the curious glance his alpha directed at him. He did not want to know what kinds of emotions Derek could smell off him.

“And that's not enough for you to say no?” The teen shot back incredulously. Isaac didn't understand how Scott could be such a hypocrite. Just because he had never been helpless, and never would be—thanks to his enhanced strength and speed—didn't mean that others weren't struggling to survive. For many others, _for him_ , a bite had been the only hope left for a better life.

“Whatever you want, there's other ways to get it.” Scott pleaded up at Boyd, who'd yet to get down from his seat on the zamboni.

“I just wanna not eat lunch alone every day.” The boy explained himself. Isaac could hear both their heartbeats; strong and steady. Neither would be willing to back down.

“If you're looking for friends, you can do a lot better than Derek.” Scott grasped for something to convince Boyd that he was right.

Walking out onto the ice, Derek, followed by Isaac and Erica, made their presence known. “That really hurts, Scott.” Derek voiced. “I mean, if you're going to review me, at least take a consensus.”

Pointing at each of his betas, Derek raised his eyebrows, asking for their opinion. Isaac felt a ball of cold dread stick in his throat. He was glad when Derek asked Erica to speak first. He wouldn't have known what to say, had the super-confident blonde not taken the lead.

“Erica, how's life been for you since we met?” Derek questioned, leaning back as though they were being interviewed and all of them weren't werewolves that had just broken into an ice rink in the middle of the night.

“Hm,” The blonde thought for a moment, lifting her brow in an action that wouldn't have suited her before she was given the bite. Now, with her leather jacket and tight clothes, it fit like a glove. “In a word—” She intoned dramatically. “Transformative.”

Roaring, Erica snapped her fangs and widened her amber eyes. Isaac felt out of place beside the other two. He was dressed just like them, he was even acting like them—pretending not to care about Scott's possibly legitimate concerns—but deep down, he was still the scared boy who hid under the table when his father got drunk.

“Isaac?” Derek prodded and his throat felt too tight for him to even breathe.

This was it. He couldn't fail now. Not after everything he'd been through to get this far. He was a part of Derek's pack, even though he might not have agreed with everything they were doing. Family was everything to Isaac and the first thing Derek had taught him was that a pack was a family.

Tilting his head to the side, Isaac plastered on a confident smirk. “Well, I'm a little bummed about being a fugitive,” He shared, flexing his fingers and extending his claws. “But other than that, I'm great.” He finished and Isaac could almost believe it.

“Okay, hold on.” Scott intervened as Isaac and Erica stalked forward according to what they knew their alpha expected. Neither of them knew what they were doing. “This isn't exactly a fair fight.” Scott complained.

“Then go home, Scott.” Derek called as Erica growled impatiently and Isaac prayed to God that he didn't get his ass handed to him. He'd had enough beatings to last a life-time.

Flicking out his claws and looking up at the group, Scott's eyes were the same yellow as Isaac and Erica's as he spoke through a mouthful of sharp fangs. “I meant fair for them.” He told the alpha.

Erica took the insult as a cue for attack and Isaac had no choice but to follow. As they met the other werewolf on the ice, Isaac only had a moment to feel good about himself as he slashed at Scott McCall's arm and batted away a rogue kick, before he and Erica were pushed away from the more experienced beta, sliding on the ice beneath them.

“Don't you get it?” Scott asked them. Erica lay sprawled across the ice, glaring up at the boy who'd beaten her so easily.

“He's not doing this for you.” The boy tried to convince them. Isaac was too focused on the disappointment coursing through his veins to notice anything other than the persistent pounding of his heart.

“He's just adding to his own power, okay?” Scott insisted.

He'd failed.

“It's all about him.” Scott lowered his voice, beginning to understand that his words weren't getting through to anyone. “He makes you feel like he's giving you some kind of gift when all he's done is turn you into a bunch of guard dogs!” The teen yelled, regaining his fervour as though it had never dwindled.

Isaac found admiration for Scott, beneath the layers he'd crafted to fit into his new pack. He thought about all the times Derek had used Erica and he to do things for him. Isaac worried that Scott might have had a point.

“It's true.” Derek admitted readily. “It is about power.”

Boyd got down from the zamboni as Erica and Isaac picked themselves up with what little dignity they had left, and limped over to rejoin their alpha.

“Don't.” Scott cautioned. “You don't wanna be like them.”

“You're right.” Boyd replied, lifting up his shirt to reveal the puncture wounds on his abdomen from where Derek had bitten him. “I wanna be like you.” He told the shaggy-haired boy.

As Isaac turned to leave with the others, a particular scent caught his attention. It was like gunpowder and iron, mixed with a floral smell Isaac couldn't identify. He'd smelled it once before, at the sheriff's station.

Looking down at the ground, Isaac's eyes found a particular spot on the ice near where his foot was about to tread on unpolished ice. The handle of a knife protruded from the scuffed surface beneath him, surrounded by cracks and chips. Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and removed the blade. It was small but well-balanced in his hand. It smelled the same as he remembered Adrianna had.

He pocketed the knife and continued on his way, oblivious to the way his heart-rate picked up and his lips lifted in a smile. He owed her his life, after all; the least he could do was return the knife to her.


	4. Abomination

They'd lied to her. All of them had kept things from her. Which meant that they knew she'd lied to them about Lydia, which meant she was totally screwed.

But they'd still lied and despite the fact that they might have been a little bit justified in keeping the truth from her, seeing as she'd been more than unstable as of late, Adrianna knew that she really could have helped them, had they told her about it sooner.

The hunter lying on the vet's operating table with his chest shredded to ribbons, could have used her help. He could have been alive right then, telling them everything they needed to know, if Gerard and Chris and Victoria had trusted her.

“I'm starting to think I need to buy a more prominent 'closed' sign.” The dark-skinned, bald-headed veterinarian stated from the opposite side of the pony wall separating the inside of the clinic from the waiting room.

“Hello, Alan.” Gerard greeted friendly enough, leisurely walking inside the clinic to stand beside the dead hunter's body. He hadn't looked at Adrianna since inviting her to come along. Even he knew when he made mistakes, although he'd never admit it. “It's been a while. The last I heard, you had retired.” He told the vet.

“Last I heard you followed a code of conduct.” The man retorted smartly. There was something about the man that screamed wisdom. He reminded Adrianna of a younger, more human version of Chiron.

“If you hadn't noticed,” Chris interrupted. “This body is one of ours.”

“I did,” Deaton shared calmly, not at all concerned that he had three of the most dangerous hunters, not to mention most of the Argent family, in his operating room. “I also noticed the gunpowder residue on his finger tips.” All of them simultaneously looked at the body. Adrianna felt ill at the sight of the carnage. “So don't assume I will be swayed by your philosophy just because I'll answer a few questions.” He finished, walking to the other side of the table, opposite the hunters.

Breathing raggedly, Adrianna's hand seemed to move with a mind of it's own, locking onto the dead hunter's arm tightly. Lightning seemed to course through her veins as the last moments before his death replayed in her mind.

“He was only twenty four.” She realized brokenly. For the life of her, she couldn't stop the terror that the man had felt before death from entering her own system. It felt like she'd swallowed knives. Tears came to her eyes.

 _What's wrong with me?_ Adrianna thought, as Deaton, Chris, and Gerard gave her strange looks. She hastily removed her hand from the body. She hadn't noticed how cold she'd become.

“Killers come in all ages.” The vet eventually recovered enough to say, still regarding her cautiously.

“All ages, sizes, shapes.” Gerard agreed, placing a possessive hand over his granddaughter's shoulder. “It's the last one that concerns us.”

Deaton and Gerard stared at each other. It was clear that the vet didn't want to acquiesce so easily, and Adrianna had the sudden thought that perhaps they'd have to torture him in order to learn what they wanted to know. Her unexpected resolve to inflict harm upon a man she'd never met before then, startled her stiff.

“How about you tell us what you found?” Chris broke the tension.

Turning on the bright, examination light overhead, Deaton slipped on some gloves before turning the dead man's head, exposing his neck. “See this cut?” He asked them, lightly pressing on the base of the man's neck, where the skin was broken. “Precise.” He observed. “Almost surgical.”

Leaning further forward, Deaton didn't seem at all perturbed by the blood staining his gloves. “This isn't the wound that killed him.” He shared. “This had a more interesting purpose.”

“Relating to the spine.” Adrianna guessed. She remembered a particular lesson her mother Kate had given her when she'd first picked the broadsword as her weapon of choice. She still had the scars to prove it.

“That's right.” Deaton informed her, glancing up into her eyes in a way that made her feel like he could see much further than just that. “Whatever made this cut, it's laced with a paralytic toxin, potent enough to disable all motor functions. These are the cause of death.” His hands migrated down to the man's abdomen, over the wounds that had sliced clean through the man's vital organs and flesh.

“Notice the patterns on each side.” He instructed them, placing his fingers over each of the fissure-like injuries. His hands fit into the tracks easily, there was one jagged wound for each finger.

“Five for each finger.” Chris spoke for them all.

“Each claw.” Gerard corrected. His hand was still clasped over her shoulder; not painful, but a constant reminder that he had control over her. She shrugged his hand away, ignoring the way her grandfather's eyes narrowed.

“As you can see, it dug in,” Deaton explained to them. “Slashed upwards, eviscerating the lungs and slicing through the bone of the rib cage with ease.” He finished, dropping his hands at his sides.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Chris calmly asked. The pallor of his face was enough for Adrianna to know that he was hiding his unease.

“No.” Deaton responded, staring at Adrianna in shock as she answered the question, at the same time, with a very different reply.

“Yes.” She said confidently. In fact, she'd seen many things similar to this before. None of them were ever human. None of them were the types of supernatural creatures her family was used to dealing with.

Gerard's smiled, satisfied that bringing Adrianna along was a good decision after all, despite the trouble she'd caused him lately.

“Any idea at all what killed him?” Chris questioned again. Even he didn't seem sure who he was asking.

“No,” The vet chose to respond as Adrianna bit her lip in thought. “But I can tell you it's fast, remarkably strong, and has the capacity to render its victims essentially helpless within seconds.”

“If you're saying we should be cautious?” Chris remarked, slightly miffed by the lack of confidence implied in the other man's statement. “We get it.” He told Deaton, who was now taking off his soiled gloves.

“I'm saying you should be afraid.” The vet expounded. “Be very afraid.” He warned. “Because in the natural world, predators with paralytic toxins use them to catch and eat their prey. This prey wasn't eaten.” He pointed out. “That mean whatever killed him only wanted to kill him. In fact, killing may be its only purpose.” He theorized.

“Don't worry, Doc.” Adrianna assured as Chris and Gerard made their way out of the clinic. “I know what I'm doing.” Looking over her shoulder at her grandfather and uncle, who were now waiting for her near the door, she felt a conniving smile light up her face. Now she had the advantage and she planned to use it to it's full potential. “ _We_ know what we're doing.” She amended.

As she turned to leave, Deaton caught her hand. “Kate's daughter, right?” He asked her.

A spike of dread impaled her heart. “How'd you know that?” She hostilely interrogated him.

“Familial resemblance.” He waved off her anger. “Just be careful.” He warned, ostensibly concerned for her safety. “Don't let what happened to your mother, happen to you.”

Gerard called her name from afar, beckoning her to follow them. She swallowed thickly. “Too late.” She muttered weakly, racing out of the room as soon as Deaton loosened his grip.

She was already a puppet to her grandfather, perhaps even more so than her mother had been. At least when Kate had stepped out of line, she never had to be afraid of what Gerard would do to her. The same couldn't be said of Adrianna.

For all she knew, she was one mistake away from a bullet to the brain.

**#-#-#-#-#**

As his betas charged at him once more, Derek refrained from groaning aloud. He was getting tired of the teenager's incompetence when it came to winning a fight. Neither Isaac, Erica, or Boyd for that matter, could manage to maintain full control over themselves now that they were werewolves, let alone knew how to use their claws, fangs, and super strength properly.

Perhaps biting kids who had problems hadn't been as good an idea as he'd originally thought.

Shoving aside Erica as she charged at him head-first, and knocking Isaac over the back, sending him tumbling to the ground, Derek felt an angry growl break free from his throat.

“Does anyone wanna try not being completely predictable?” He furiously proclaimed, standing over his too-easily defeated betas with disapproval. They'd never survive if he couldn't teach them how to at least defend themselves.

Erica suddenly threw herself at him, surprising him just a little bit, and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her lips to his as though she wanted to devour him. Derek's mind wandered for a moment.

He thought of the last person that had kissed him—he thought of Kate. Her copper hair, the smell of her perfume, and the feeling of her body pressed up against his in a time when he'd allowed himself to be led astray by the conniving blonde.

And then, something strange happened. As his heart filled with guilt and the acidic bile he associated with anger so intense, he saw red, he remembered her green eyes—so astute and troubled. The way she'd carried herself, strong and capable. He recalled her softer features—the slight point to the end of her nose, the light dusting of freckles just beneath her cheekbones, and the subtle curve of her frustratingly distracting lips.

For a split second, the thought occurred to him that he was no longer ruminating over Kate, for the similarities—though there were many—were offset by the stark differences.

With Erica's lips still clinging to his with bruising force, he realized that he'd been thinking about Adrianna, Kate's daughter.

Fear, self-hatred, shame, anger, and something else he hadn't felt in a long time forced him to return to the present and roughly shove Erica off of him. She landed on the concrete floor with a groan and Derek could have sworn he heard bone snapping.

“That's the last time you do that.” He warned, wiping his lips with the back of his palm. They were tingling. It didn't help to keep his thoughts away from dangerous huntresses—dead and alive.

“Why?” Erica demanded an explanation, leaning on her elbows as her body healed from the harsh impact. “Because I'm a beta?” She wondered.

He stared at her, then Isaac, and lastly, the empty spot next to the two where his latest beta, Boyd, should have been. “No,” He gruffly replied, placing his hands on his hips. “Because I have someone else in mind for you.”

“Are we done?” Isaac complained, also still lying, exhausted, on the floor. “I've got about a hundred bones that need a few hours to heal.” He bitterly snarked.

Derek hadn't forgotten for a second what the young teen had been through, but coddling him and keeping him from harm wasn't going to do him any good when he came face to face with the Argents. No matter how much it hurt Derek to do so, he knew that broken bones would be the least of Isaac's problems, soon enough.

“Come here.” He beckoned the boy, who looked at him with suspicion, but did as he asked.

Securing both hands around Isaac's arm, Derek slid his hands in opposite directions, like turning the cap on a particularly stubborn milk jug, and snapped the boy's bone, just below his elbow. The resounding crack and following groan made him sick to his stomach.

He felt like he'd kicked a puppy.

“A hundred and one.” He told Isaac, instead of apologizing, like he knew he should have. “You think I'm teaching you how to fight?” He asked the pair staring at him in horror. “Huh?” He pressed.

He'd be the monster. The cruel teacher that everyone hated, if it saved their lives. Hell, he'd done much worse for people less worthy. “Look at me!” He roared, when they refused to meet his eyes. “I'm teaching you how to survive!” He tried to tell them.

“If they wanted us dead why aren't they coming for us now?” Isaac spoke up. He was the quietest of Derek's betas, but also the bravest. “What are they waiting for?” He trailed off, letting his question hang.

Derek knew he wanted to remind everyone what had happened at the sheriff's station, when Kate's daughter had let them go. That perhaps, not all hunters were as bad as Derek had been telling them. He'd seen the way Isaac had looked at her. He'd smelled the boy's intrigue and attraction.

It was dangerous for Isaac to become so obsessed over a huntress like Adrianna, who was Gerard's right hand woman. It might get him killed. It would definitely get him hurt.

“I don't know.” Derek settled for as an answer. Even he was aware that admitting such a thing to your pack wasn't always wise, but he was out of options. He needed their help, their cooperation, their trust, and the only way to gain it, would be to prove to them that he had their best interest's at heart.

“But they're planning something,” He continued. A bad feeling begun to boil in his gut, as he thought about why Boyd hadn't come to train. Of all his other betas, Boyd seemed to be the least loyal to him. “And you, especially,” He motioned to Isaac. “Know that's not our only problem.”

“Whatever that thing is that killed Isaac's father,” He told a confused Erica. “I think it killed someone else last night. Until I find out what it is, you all need to learn everything that I know.” He reminded them. “As fast as I can teach you.”

He didn't feel the need to say anything to Isaac, at least directly, about certain brunette huntresses and their lost knives. The narrowed stare he sent the boy's way should have been enough.

Derek knew what it was like to fall for an Argent. It wasn't something he wanted his beta to experience. Certainly not when Derek himself wasn't sure what he thought about Adrianna.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“I'm so sorry about the other day.” He panted. “I'm trying. We'll get through this.” Holding an unsteady hand to his chest, Stiles tried to ease his racing heart. “Uh, I know, because I love you.” He stuttered out. “I love you more than—” He broke off, shaking his head, clearly repulsed.

“Oh, my god.” He exclaimed, leaning against the wall beside his amused best fried. “I can't—” He tried to say, much to Scott's delight. “You and Allison just have to find a better way to communicate.” He settled for telling the boy beside him with a slightly crooked jaw.

“Come on,” Scott encouraged, looking just a bit worried that Stiles would actually quit on him. “You're the only one that we can trust. Is she coming to the game tonight?” Sadly, Stiles knew he was telling the truth, so, with an accusing glare, he set off back to the school playground to ask Allison.

“Yes!” He told Scott once he'd run all the way there and back. His legs burned from the exertion. “Okay, message complete.” He proclaimed with finality. “Now, tell me about your boss?”

All day, Scott had been torturing him with limited details about how his boss, Alan Deaton the vet, had helped him to heal after the confrontation with Derek and his new betas. Stiles could barely contain his curiosity. Scott had never gone this long without spilling the truth. That in itself promised that whatever Deaton had said or done, must have been important.

“He thinks that Allison's family keeps some kind of, uh,” Scott begun, struggling to explain himself. Stiles' knee jumped repeatedly in his impatience. Finally grasping the right words, Scott continued, much to Stiles' relief. “Records of all the things that they've hunted. Like a book.” He told the spastic boy.

Pressing a few thoughtful fingers to his chin, Stiles nodded his head as he confirmed his theory. “He probably means a bestiary.” He shared with Scott, who gave him a strange look.

“What?” He asked, sounding dumber than he had in—well, the last ten minutes. Stiles only felt a little bit bad about rolling his eyes and huffing exasperatedly at his friend. Scott had it coming, after all, when he'd agreed to be friends with Stiles.

“A bestiary.” He waved his hands animatedly, trying to make his friend understand.

Smiling lopsidedly, Scott looked oddly pleased with himself. “I think you mean bestiality.” He corrected Stiles, nearly causing the gangly teen to smack him over the head with the first thing he could find. Sometimes, Scott really ticked Stiles off.

“Nope, pretty sure I don't.” Stiles arrogantly retorted. He was angry that Scott didn't trust him. “It's like an encyclopedia of mythical creatures.” He added smartly.

Scott's chin dipped as disappointment seemed to set in with the truth. He was right—again—just like he always was. “How am I the only one who doesn't know anything about this stuff?” Scott whined, disheartened.

“Okay, you're my best friend,” Stiles explained, clapping Scott's shoulder in an awkwardly comforting way. “You're a creature of the night, it's kind of like a priority of mine.”

“Okay,” Scott planned, having gained back some of his courage. “If we can find it, and it can tell us what this thing is—”

“And who.” Stiles added.

As the two best friends who were, now more than ever, like brothers to each other, traded glances, they both met the same conclusion.

“We need that book!” They both exclaimed.

Stiles knew this would mean more time for him as a messenger because he'd have to ask Allison where it might be. One apologetic glance from Scott was all it took before he set off once more.

“I think you mean—” Allison started to correct, just as Scott had, once Stiles had explained their idea, but never got to finish.

“No,” Stiles interrupted with certainty. “I mean bestiary. And the two of you,” He told her incredulously. “I don't want to know what's going on in your heads.”

Staring at him with a mixture of confusion and shock, Allison took his weirdness in stride. “Okay, um. Can you describe this thing?” She asked him, looking around herself warily.

“Uh, it's probably like a book.” He stated the obvious, internally cringing. “Old, worn.” He added helpfully.

“Like bound in leather?” Allison suggested, eyes lighting up as though she'd seen such a book before. Stiles felt hope, for the first time that day, that perhaps their stupid plan would actually work. Even though they didn't actually have much of a plan at all besides finding and stealing the bestiary.

As he ran through the school's corridors, slamming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs that Scott was sitting on, Stiles took a few moments to catch his breath. He was already getting tired of running around the school like a maniac.

“Yes.” He blurted to Scott, clutching his throat where the air was burning his lungs. “Seen her grandfather—with a book like that.” He breathed.

A little while later, he found himself bending over his knees near Allison asking, “Where—does—he—keep it?” In halting pants. His face twisted in agony as the girl answered and he was forced to propel himself back to Scott.

He wondered why the superhuman, immensely strong, incredibly fast, werewolf couldn't have done this instead.

“She says—has to be—office.” He choked out. Scott was trying very hard not to laugh at him. Stiles had never before felt so used, or so certain that he wanted to make Scott repay him somehow.

“You know,” He couldn't help himself from telling Allison on his three hundredth trip in a row. “Drug dealers have been using disposable cellphones pretty successfully for years.”

“My parents check every call, email, and text message I send.” She stated helplessly. “Trust me, they'd find us.”

Sighing in defeat, Stiles nearly collapsed as the wind changed directions. He'd never been this tired in his life. Well, besides the times when he was either running for his life, or training for lacrosse under Coach Finstock's supervision. That man could be scary when he wanted to be.

“Alright,” He agreed, moving past his suggestion and back onto the record they desperately needed. “Can you get the book?” He asked her hopefully.

“Not without his keys.” Allison replied just as someone sat down beside her on the swing set.

“What book?” Allison's cousin questioned, scaring Stiles' out of his wits and causing a very unmanly squeak to perforate the air between them. Adrianna scared him, maybe even more than Gerard did.

“Oh, um—” He stuttered guiltily. “Nothing, nothing at all.” He detrimentally proclaimed. He wasn't under the illusion that the cunning huntress believed him, but he could at least hope that she wouldn't figure out what they were doing, before they could do it.

“Really?” She asked, oblivious or disinterested in Allison's restraining hand on her wrist. Her pale face was practically glowing. She looked like one of the models Stiles always saw in magazines Lydia liked to read—airbrushed to perfection. There wasn't so much as a blemish, dark circle, bruise, or mole in sight.

It was like she'd eaten the magical vitamin gummy bears his father had tried to trick him into taking, by saying that they'd make him into a better version of himself.

Suddenly, Stiles found himself considering whether Adrianna Argent had been bitten, because she looked even better than Erica did. She almost didn't look human anymore.

That was until she slapped the side of his head irately, to draw back his attention. Snapping her fingers in front of his face, she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm talking to you, numb nuts.” She snapped.

 _Definitely not a werewolf, but also, not entirely human._ He realized as the whites of her eyes, particularly near her tear ducts, seemed to glow purple.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Never before in her life had she been more grateful for the torture that was detention. It was the reason why Adrianna, her cousin, wasn't at the game and hadn't been able to continue pressing them for details on their plan to steal Gerard's bestiary.

Sitting down on the freezing bleachers next to her grandfather, Allison's breath puffed out in a cloud of steam. It was perfect. The plan she, Stiles, and Scott had thought up would be sure to work, especially since the weather was cooperating.

“I need to warn you, by the way,” Gerard stated, shuffling beside her to get comfortable on the rock hard benches. “You might need to be a little patient with me.”

Allison's brow furrowed as she tried to react calmly. Speaking with her grandfather was still taking some getting used to. Especially when she thought about Adrianna, who was serving a detention with Mr. Harris for protecting Erica, back before she'd accepted Derek's bite and become a werewolf. It made her feel guilty, yes, but Allison was also aware that her cousin had a mean streak that was becoming more prominent the longer she stayed in Beacon Hills.

“How come?” She found herself asking, mainly to pass the time and relieve some of the tension that had accumulated around them. She focused on the lacrosse players warming up near the sidelines, to distract her thoughts from her troublesome cousin.

“I'll probably have a lot of questions, seeing as I've never actually seen a lacrosse game before.” He explained. The muted colours of his argyle flat cap reminded her that he was an old man. She felt a sense of security, in that fact.

Beneath them, as the game begun and the fans cheered or groaned as their team fought for victory, Allison heard the coach complaining whether or not one of the opposing team's player's was even the right age to be playing on a high school team.

Glancing around her, barely noticing the struggle her boyfriend Scott was facing, Allison decided that it was time to enact their well-thought out plan. She shivered dramatically, huddling deeper into her thin sweater.

“I knew I should have brought a warmer jacket.” She chastised herself, rubbing her arms to try to bring some heat back into the limbs. Thankfully, her fingers were cold as ice, so when her grandfather's hand slipped into hers, he couldn't tell that she was lying—or at least exaggerating the truth.

“You're cold,” Gerard realized, already shrugging out of his outermost layer. “Here, take my coat.” He offered.

Looking at the very warm, very thick, black overcoat, Allison shyly licked her lips and ducked her head. “Are you sure?” She asked him, when all she really wanted to do was reach out and wrap the material around herself, the colder she became.

“Of course.” Her grandfather promised as he draped the too-big coat over Allison's shoulders.

Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she sighed in relief. “Thanks.” She said, truly meaning it. She was careful to wait a few more minutes before delving into the pockets and retrieving the keys within.

As Stiles covertly walked in her direction, between both sets of bleachers and towards the near-empty school, the loud crash of two bodies colliding distracted Gerard long enough for Allison to hand the keys over to Stiles. Giddy excitement settled in her racing heart as her participation came to a close.

“Good god,” She distantly registered Gerard saying, horrified. “Is it always this violent?”

“I can't feel my legs!” A lacrosse player Allison didn't recognize shouted out in pain. She bit her lip, raising her shoulders in a dismissive shrug.

She would have thought that Gerard, being an experienced hunter, would be accustomed, even desensitized, to brutality and gore. It seemed like lately, everyone was taking Allison by surprise. She just hoped that she'd be ready when the time came, to distinguish who her friends and enemies were. 

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her fingers tapped impatiently against the grimy desk. It had been over four hours since school had been let out and still, she was here, trapped in the biology classroom, serving a detention that should never have been given to her in the first place.

“Are you even allowed to do this?” She found herself asking Mr. Harris, the lanky man with rectangular glasses Adrianna found herself at the whim of.

He'd been sorting through paperwork the whole time, not paying more than a second's glance her way, but now, he looked up with a raised eyebrow and haughty expression. It was as though, all that time, he'd been waiting for her to crack.

“Why yes, I can.” He patronizingly informed her, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “In fact, you should be happy that you weren't expelled, thanks to the violence you displayed in this school.”

And then, with a small, hardly there, condescending smile, he returned to his work, grading other people's papers and assignments. Adrianna felt her temper rising dangerously high; like a pot that'd been on the boiler for too long. Steam nearly shot out of her ears.

“I'll have you know that the _violence_ I'm here for,” She mocked, taking none of his superiority. His murderous past came to her in whispered segments—she smelled the sharp tang of blood in the air. “Was in fact an act of justice. But if thinking of it as a childish outburst helps you sleep at night—helps to drown out the screams of those you've helped to kill—then go right on ahead and keep believing that.”

For a second, all Mr. Harris did was stare at her, blood draining from his visage and making him look almost like a ghost. Then, he dropped the red marker he'd been using to grade assignments, and stood up abruptly, causing his chair to screech against the tile floors.

“How dare you!” He cried indignantly, face burning with shame and anger. “You have no right to accuse me of such things!” He continued, slapping his hands against the desk forcefully, the shock wave rippled through the silence.

Adrianna leaned back in her chair, pleased with the man's ire. Mr. Harris seemed to notice that she wasn't afraid, as he took a deep breath, and tried to express himself again; this time trying to strike real fear in the cold girl's heart.

“Who do you think you are, that you can get away with not only assaulting a fellow student, but insulting and accusing your teacher of—of.” He stuttered for a moment, swiping his hand beneath his nose to wipe away the droplets of perspiration. “Unspeakable things.” He finally decided on, stepping back from his desk and taking a seat once more.

His question hung in the air, making it feel oppressive and thick, but Adrianna didn't mind. She let him sit there, awaiting an answer, for a whole minute, before she spoke.

“Mr. Harris.” She begun, steepling her calloused fingers together patiently, as though she were the elder and he the rebellious child. “It is Mr. Harris, isn't it?” She asked, but continued on without an answer. “You see, my grandfather is the principal of this fine school, and he is the reason why I haven't been expelled.” Adrianna admitted.

Mr. Harris sat straighter in his chair, placing both hands on either armrest, no doubt preparing to stand and slap her for her impertinence. Adrianna merely extended her pointer finger in warning, and a force bent the air around the teacher, making him stay where he was.

“Nuh, uh, uh.” She chastised, smirking devilishly. “I wasn't done.” She reminded him. The teacher was staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. He had his suspicions about the normalcy of some of Beacon Hills' residents, but he'd never thought to meet one in person, let alone piss one off this badly.

Adrianna tilted her head to the side, still keeping Mr. Harris immobile, as death whispered in her ear. It spoke to her of screaming men, women, and children, burning to death. It told her of a night spent drinking and divulging secrets to another with a more nefarious mind. For a long moment, she was quiet as she heard the one name she hadn't expected to be mentioned.

“Kate Argent.” Death informed her apathetically, as she stared at Mr. Harris with a strange sort of confusion. “He helped Kate Argent to kill them.” It said to her— _they_ said to her and she knew it to be the truth.

Shock ricocheted in her mind, rendering her speechless. In her disheveled state, Mr. Harris was released from her grasp and he hastily stumbled out of his chair, running straight for the door.

“Wait!” Adrianna called desperately, images of her mother speaking with a slightly younger Harris tinting her vision black and white, but the teacher did not stop. He fumbled with a set of keys to unlock the door, but did not have enough time before Adrianna stalked up to him, shoving him into the wall nearby and knocking the air from his lungs.

“I said, wait.” She growled, pulling him up to his feet by the lapels of his cheap suit and slamming him once more into the wall. “Why don't you people ever listen?” She muttered to herself, her hands turning as cold as ice and bleeding out into the warm body of Mr. Harris. He shivered beneath her fingertips and she reluctantly let him go before she did something she'd really regret, like kill him.

“What, what—” Mr. Harris stumbled over his words. “What are you?” He finally asked.

Adrianna flexed her stiff fingers, regaining some control over the rage that had taken control. She smiled at the teacher, smoothing down her hair as she calmed down some. “That's not what should concern you right now.” She told him, roughly snatching the keys from his slackened grip. “The thing you really want to know, is who I am.”

“I don't-” He stuttered, looking at the keys she'd stolen like, if he'd been braver, he would have snatched them back. “I don't understand.” He eventually managed to admit.

Adrianna smirked cruelly, just like her mother, and tapped the man on the chin. “Oh sweetie,” She sighed, purposefully sounding like Kate. “Don't you know who my mommy is?” She asked him, giggling foolishly as Mr. Harris' eyes widened exponentially and his skin seemed to turn green.

“No,” He muttered, horrified. “She's dead.” He tried to comfort himself. “She's dead and she never had any—any.” He trailed off, staring at her and realizing that everything he'd thought, had been wrong, because in the light of the moon, with anger burning in her eyes, she was a spitting image of her mother; of Kate Argent.

“There you go, butterfingers.” She congratulated him, slapping him on the shoulder none too gently. “You've figured it out.” She exclaimed, unlocking the door with ease and walking outside.

“For that,” Adrianna told Mr. Harris as she stood outside the classroom. “I'll let you live.”

And then she slammed the door shut and locked it securely, throwing the keys over her shoulder. Inside the room, beyond the small glass window that was inset into the wooden door, Mr. Harris slammed his fists against the unmoving door.

“What's wrong with you?” He cried indignantly, turning the knob brutishly but finding that it would not budge. “Are you insane.” He accused her.

Turning around and beginning to walk away, Adrianna blinked angrily as her eyes started to sting. “I don't know.” She admitted to herself, staring at the ground and wondering when she'd become even worse than her mother.

Shouts up ahead, near the pools, caught her attention and she shook off her somber mood, picking up her pace to investigate. Perhaps she was a monster, worse than the things her family hunted, but she'd be damned if she let that define her.

Besides, Harris deserved what he'd gotten.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He hadn't looked at her in the eyes ever since she'd kissed him. She wondered if it was something deeper than the excuse he'd given her, because she would have bet anything that for the first few seconds, he'd even kissed her back.

Prowling the empty, dark hallways of her school, Erica followed the voice of Stiles Stilinski as he plundered their new Principal's office.

“Book, book, book.” He called out as the sounds of papers shuffling and drawers opening and shutting let Erica know that he was searching for something. “Nothing here.” He stated, texting disappointedly, just as Erica reached the half-open door.

“Oh my—”Stiles broke off midway as he faced her, watching her the way a nervous rabbit kept it's eyes focused on the wolf ahead, snapping it's jaws and baring it's fangs.

“Hello, Stiles.” She greeted, letting one of her hands hang at her side, claws extended, while the other sat at her hip. The boy turned a few shades paler. It must have been because of what had happened between them yesterday—what with her disconnecting his car and knocking him unconscious, not to mention stuffing him in a garbage bin.

It didn't take much more than an encouraging growl for Stiles to raise his hands in surrender. “Follow me.” She told him, moving forwards and snatching hold of his arm, dragging him behind her whether he liked it or not. “Derek wants to see you.” She finished menacingly.

“Ah!” Stiles whined as her claws dug into the soft meat of his pale, bony arm. “Ah! Ah!” He repeated in pain as Erica lead him to the pools and to Derek.

“Stiles.” Derek pronounced as the boy lost his footing and nearly fell, before righting himself. Erica made her way over to Derek's side, pretending not to notice the sudden frigidity between them.

Meeting eyes with both werewolves, Stiles gulped nervously before responding. “Derek.” Much as Erica's alpha had just done.

“What did you see at the mechanic's garage?” Derek asked, lightly bouncing the basketball in his grasp nonchalantly. Erica could hear Stiles' heart rate increase subtly.

“Uh,” The boy uncomfortably muttered. “Several alarming EPA violations that I'm seriously considering reporting.” He lied pathetically.

With a small noise of dissatisfaction, Derek clutched the basketball in both hands, extending his claws threateningly and deflating the ball slowly.

“Holy god.” Stiles breathed and she didn't need to hear his heart to know he was scared out of his wits.

“Let's try that again.” Derek instructed; tossing the destroyed basketball at his feet, it landed with a flat smack against the tiles.

“All right,” Stiles relented, his fingers twitching at his sides. “The thing was pretty slick looking.” He described, voice rising in pitch and speed as he got excited. “Um, skin was dark, kind of patterned.” He added. “Uh, I think I actually saw scales.” He told them, standing perfectly still.

“Is that enough?” He mocked, gaining some of his courage back. Erica smirked as the boy trailed on. “Okay, because I've got somebody I really need to talk to—” He said, waving his arms at his sides uselessly before being interrupted by Derek's threatening gaze.

“All right!” He exclaimed, grunting in frustration. “Fine, eyes. Eyes are, um yellowish and slitted.” Stiles explained, gesturing with his hands to get his meaning across. “Um, has a lot of teeth.” He seemed to remember, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, but Erica hardly noticed as her stare was drawn above the boy, where Derek was looking, transfixed.

“Oh!” Stiles recalled. “And it's got a tail, too.”

The creature on the balcony above was just as Stiles had described it, with scaly skin, yellow, slitted eyes, a mouthful of teeth, and a tail almost as long as it's body. Erica felt a tiny sliver of doubt poison her heart as she wondered whether she'd be able to take this thing, even with her new enhancements.

“Are we good?” Stiles impatiently asked, oblivious to the monster behind him. “What?” He finally caught on, glancing between the two as he begun to realize that neither werewolf seemed to be paying attention to him.

Erica's palms felt damp from sweat. She remembered in crystal clarity what it felt like to be helpless. She'd thought that with the bite, she would never feel that way again, but the fear and uncertainty pumping through her veins said differently.

“Wait, have you seen it?” Stiles' voice boomed, too loud to Erica's ringing ears. “You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I'm talking about.” He naively stated.

The reptile creature chose that moment to strike, climbing over the railing of the balcony and landing on the tile floors in a crouch, tail swishing about it's body as it screeched. Erica felt her eyes burn as they turned yellow.

Despite her reservations, she bent her knees and prepared to fight. With barely a sideways glance her way, the creature swatted her aside, straight into the adjacent wall with bone-jarring force.

“Run!” Derek commanded as Erica shook her head, trying to recover from the harsh impact. Erica's heart felt a thousand pounds heavier as she realized that even Derek, who was a powerful alpha and much more experienced at fighting than her, didn't believe he could win a fight against the creature.

She started to get up to follow Derek and Stiles, but as she did so, a barely recognizable stinging increased at the base of her neck and she found that her limbs no longer obeyed what she told them to do, and so she fell back to the floor, paralyzed.

Tears slipped out of her eyes as she compared the sensation to her seizures. It was too similar to bear and so she cried out, using what was left of her strength to reach her sluggish arms outwards, begging the others for help as she saw the creature dart past her and towards Derek and Stiles.

“Derek, your neck!” Stiles shouted, alarmed, as the alpha began to sway on his feet. “Hey come on!” He yelled again and then, as they scrambled to outrun the creature, they fell into the pool with a splash and disappeared from Erica's limited field of vision. She felt a pit of dread form in her stomach. Now she was truly alone.

“Where is it?” She heard Stiles ask, “Can you see it?” she thought he said, but the words were nearly drowned out by a rather strange hissing noise that appeared to be coming closer to her position. Her vision was blurry, probably from the bump on her head, and so she didn't see the creature approaching until it was too late.

Rising over her, the reptile-like creature hissed loudly with it's claws extended. It's abnormal yellow eyes trained on her defenseless form and she knew that it would not show her any mercy. Just as Erica held her breath and the creature was ready to strike, the double doors leading into the pool swung open forcefully and parted for the raging force that was Allison Argent's cousin.

“Get away from her, _ugly_!” She called out confidently, standing with her legs far apart and her shoulders squared defiantly. She was not armed, but that didn't seem to worry her any. In fact, she sounded like she waltzed into public buildings and challenged supernatural creatures everyday.

If the gleeful smile on her face when the creature turned on her, hissing angrily, was any indication, she might have even enjoyed it.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Yeah, I'm talking to you!” Adrianna yelled again. Her blood was rushing steadily and the dark, heaviness in her chest abated for a moment. “Come on!” She goaded the reptile-like creature that had been standing over Erica's paralyzed body. “Come at me!” She screamed, lifting her hands from her sides in a display of aggression.

With an angry hiss, the Kanima lurched towards her and she barely had time to drop to her knees and roll underneath the beast before it was upon her. Adrianna felt a laugh bubble in her throat and escape without her permission. Even to her own ears, she sounded deluded.

As the Kanima whirled on her, frustratedly flicking out it's forked tongue as it gauged her new position, Adrianna retrieved a freshly sharpened, celestial bronze dagger from her boot.

“Is that all you got?” She taunted it, keeping her eyes on the unpredictable creature at all times. Adrianna knew it was faster than her, but it was also clumsier. If she kept track of it, she could possibly outmanoeuvre the Kanima without getting paralyzed.

Screeching indignantly, the Kanima swiped it's claws at her, but she managed to catch it's scaled arm with her knife, drawing greenish blood. The Kanima recoiled, much like a snake, cradling it's injured arm closer to it's body. In a few seconds, the cut healed and Adrianna couldn't help sighing.

 _This is going to be more difficult that I thought,_ she readily admitted to herself. At least the supernatural creatures from her world didn't heal when you hurt them—at least, most of them didn't; there were, of course, exceptions.

Holding her knife out by her side, Adrianna widened her stance and bent her right leg, extending her left to the side in a near-crouch. She drew in her right arm in a tight fist and protectively placed the arm with the knife in front of her.

With renewed vigour, the more stunned than injured Kanima moved to attack once more. It's tail swatted at her first, but she was able to side step the appendage. Then, as the animal realized that it would have no choice but to fight her up-close, the Kanima bared it's pointed, razor sharp teeth, and charged her.

She only had a moment to understand the stupidity of her idea, before the solid mass of the reptile shapeshifter impacted with her relatively fragile form. Her lungs seemed to collapse but she grit her teeth and held her ground as the Kanima took hold of her arms and wrestled to avoid the knife she was struggling to hold onto.

Adrianna had always been very good with close-quarter combat and so she knew exactly how to extract herself from the Kanima's hold. The only issue was that she'd only ever been able to overpower other people. The Kanima was an entirely different story.

Ducking her head to avoid the tail, Adrianna felt a sudden burst of strength that allowed her to push away the Kanima's arms and plunge her knife into it's chest. Groaning from the effort, the creature's eyes widened as the blade pierced it's scaly hide and Adrianna broke free from it, stumbling on her feet.

Before Adrianna could feel overly accomplished, the Kanima narrowed it's eyes on her and, without looking, extracted the blade from it's chest. Adrianna watched as the deep gash healed within a matter of minutes and the Kanima stared at her in a silent challenge, waving it's tail this way and that as it crouched near the floor.

“Well that's just great.” Adrianna voiced, placing her hands on her hips in disappointment. “You know that was my favourite knife.” She spoke to the creature, recalling that she'd lost the knife's pair at the ice rink.

Screeching loudly, seemingly pleased with itself, the Kanima abruptly lifted the knife, before slamming it into the tile floor, twisting the blade with effortless power and snapping the knife in half.

“You didn't just do that.” Adrianna furiously exclaimed, feeling her control slipping over her powers as the large, echoing room that stank of chlorine and unwashed clothes dropped in temperature by several degrees.

Her vision seemed to tint purple and black as she fearlessly came at the Kanima with nothing but her hands. For a second, her doomed fate seemed to lift, as she held her own against the creature much stronger than her. She blocked the Kanima's claws with the meat of her elbow and kicked at the creature's shins, eliciting pained, or annoyed shrieks.

Holding her arms up like a boxer, Adrianna punched the Kanima square in the face, but instead of having the disorienting effect she'd been counting on, the Kanima merely blinked, narrowing it's slitted eyes at her and, apparently reaching the end of it's tolerance for abuse, vaulted Adrianna off her feet, towards the pools.

She slid on the tile, coming to a stop mere centimeters from the water's edge. Her head slammed into the metal railing leading inside the pool and her skull pounded painfully. “That wasn't very nice.” She muttered beneath her breath.

Looking around to regain her bearings, Adrianna saw Stiles and Derek treading water to stay afloat, only the human had his arm wrapped tightly around the werewolf, as though Derek couldn't swim and needed Stiles' support.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek asked her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. It was then that she understood that he'd been paralyzed by the Kanima. “You should run,” He insisted. “Before it kills you.”

“Thanks for the concern, honey.” She mocked, straining to sit up as the world tilted around her. “But I think I can take him.” She finished, shaking her head a bit before standing up, holding onto the railing for support.

As she was distracted, still smirking lopsidedly at Derek and Stiles, the Kanima slammed into her already weakened form and Adrianna didn't have time to heed the boy's frantic warnings before both the creature and her stumbled into the pool.

Fighting with the Kanima, who seemed to become distressed as the duo sank further and further into the deep end of the pool, Adrianna felt a strange, panicky sensation begin in her lungs, which constricted painfully after less than a minute beneath the water.

With her last moment of cognitive thought, Adrianna pushed the frightened Kanima off of her, and the creature clawed it's way frantically to the surface. Her body felt weightless, but her thoughts were anything but. All of a sudden, she understood why the panic and fear had begun.

Sinking to the bottom of the pool and colliding with the tiles beneath, Adrianna realized that the sensation of holding her breath was exactly the same as being waterboarded.

Her body convulsed without her consent, fearfully clawing at the water around her as bubbles of air escaped her nose and mouth, floating to the top, far above. She screamed as the water tried to suffocate her in her memories.

Blood leaked from her scratched and torn limbs, tinting the water around her pink, but she paid it no mind as she tried to maintain in control, fiercely reminding herself that all she needed to do was push off the bottom and rocket herself to the surface. Once she breathed air again, everything would be alright.

Except it wasn't.

Clean, fresh, exhilarating air slipping past her lips and filling her cramped lungs made everything worse. It was just like the moments of torturous pause, when Gerard would allow her head to lift above the water, but the bag over her head would stick to her face and the threat beneath her would steal away what little air she could breath.

This time, when she screamed, it pierced the air and rung in her ears. She floundered to stay afloat, kicking and clawing at the water for purchase, but she found none. Adrianna hardly noticed when the Kanima fled, just as terrified of the water as she, because she was too busy drowning.

Suddenly, her fingers caught onto something solid and with all her remaining strength, she held onto it and pulled herself closer. Voices began to filter through the haze covering her mind and she realized that the something, was in fact a someone.

Adrianna's arms were firmly wrapped around Derek Hale's shoulders as she fought to keep her head above the water. She heard him cursing and complaining as Stiles' cried out in panic.

“Don't let me drown!” She pleaded, still lashing out frantically and beginning to take the others down with her. “Don't let me drown. Don't let me drown. Don't let me drown.” Adrianna chanted.

Her last thought before Derek Hale's head slammed into hers, knocking her out cold, was that Gerard had finally done it. He'd finally broken her.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“What the hell was that?” Stiles screeched loudly, regaining his water-treading rhythm as the three of them resurfaced. Derek felt his nose beginning to heal from where he'd broken it against Adrianna's head.

“That,” He informed the weak, defenseless, spastic, easily-intimidated boy who was currently the only thing keeping him alive, rather patronizingly. “Is what happens when you panic.”

Derek tilted his neck as far is it would allow to look at Stiles. “Don't panic.” He reminded the teenager as he heard Stiles' heart racing faster and smelt his increasing fear.

“But—she's” Stiles stuttered, staring at Adrianna's closed eyes and tipped back head. “She's a hunter.” He provided as an explanation. “Hunters don't panic.” He mumbled feebly.

“Well, apparently, this one does.” Derek supplied unhelpfully. Even in her sleep, Adrianna's pulse was elevated and her eyes flitted back and forth beneath the lids.

“Why?” Stiles asked, also looking at the girl.

Derek felt a strange sort of concern rising within him, similar to how he'd felt when one of his betas was in trouble. “I don't know.” He admitted, but he already had a few theories.

Minutes passed in silence and the creature did not reappear. Derek wasn't oblivious to Stiles' laboured breathing and weakening limbs. He knew that the boy couldn't keep two people and himself afloat forever.

“You get me out of here before I drown.” He growled out, his chin and then his lips temporarily dipping beneath the water before Stiles put on another burst of strength.

“You're worried about drowning?” Stiles panted. “Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth?” He asked, his voice turning shrill.

“Did you notice I'm paralyzed from the neck down in _eight feet of water_?” Derek roared, his patience running thin. Being so helpless bothered him almost as much as depending on Stiles did.

“Okay,” The pale-skinned boy announced after scanning the perimeter of the pool. “I don't see it.” He told Derek, already beginning to drag the werewolf and the unconscious hunter towards the edge of the pool.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Derek commanded as the creature suddenly became visible exactly where Stiles was heading. “Stop, stop!” He shouted, afraid of what might happen to him now that he could no longer move. If the creature had defeated him so easily while he still had full control of his limbs, he could only imagine what it would do to him now.

The creature crawled across the edge of the pool, regarding them with cold, reptilian eyes, but it did not attack. It's shadow flickered against the wall, imitating it's every move.

“What's it waiting for?” Stiles asked, taking them further back into the rippling waters of the high school pool.

After a few moments of prowling the deck, the creature grew impatient and reached forth it's clawed hand, but when it's digits came into contact with the water, it shrunk back, hissing angrily and skittered a few feet back.

“Wait, did you see that?” Stiles exclaimed. “I don't think it can swim.” He theorized.

Derek recalled the creature's reaction when it had been dragged down with Adrianna. It had seemed just as scared of drowning as she had. Perhaps the only thing keeping them alive, was the thing that might kill them all, if Stiles' didn't keep them above the water long enough for Derek to regain control over his limbs.

“Okay, okay.” Stiles admitted minutes later. “I don't think I can do this much longer.”

Derek had his head tilted back, next to Adrianna's, as they floated unsteadily near the surface. “No, no, no.” He reprimanded forcefully as he noticed Stiles looking over where he'd dropped his phone at the side of the pool.

“Don't even think about it.” He warned. The creature was still out there and he couldn't swim by himself, not to mention keep the huntress afloat.

“Would you just trust me this once?” Stiles frustratedly asked.

Panic infused into his bloodstream, making his chest constrict painfully. Derek remembered what he'd told Stiles, but he couldn't help the fear from spreading as he yelled. “No!”

“I'm the one keeping both of you alive, okay,” The gangly teen tried to convince him. “Have you noticed that?”

“Yeah.” Derek breathlessly responded, feeling an angry frustration boil in his gut, directed at the stubborn boy. “And when the paralysis wears off,” He added. “Who is gonna be able to fight that thing; you or me?”

“And so that's why I've been holding you up for the past two hours?” Stiles debated, voice strained. “If anyone can fight that thing and win,” He added, ever the smart one. “It's Adrianna.”

Derek tried not to feel offended by the boy's lack of trust in him. “You don't trust me,” He uselessly tried to persuade Stiles to stay. “I don't trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you are not letting me go.” Derek said.

Stiles stared at him and Derek could almost see the cogs turning in the boy's brain, debating whether Derek was really as valuable to him, compared to the risks of swimming towards the phone and calling Scott for help.

Roughly shaking his head as much as he could, Derek felt ice cold fear stab his heart as he saw resolution glint in the boy's eyes. “Stiles!” He shouted, but it was too late, the teen had already let go of him and Adrianna, making a mad dash towards the pool's edge.

Now all that Derek could do, as he sunk deeper and deeper into the water with Adrianna close behind him, was hope that Scott picked up and could get the three of them out of this mess. Otherwise, they were all screwed.

**#-#-#-#-#**

One of the worst ways to wake up after having your head bashed in by a particularly thick skulled werewolf, Adrianna discovered, was to return to consciousness without the ability to breath.

Her eyes snapped open an instant before her body collided with the bottom of the pool for the second time that day, and just like before, she found herself losing it.

Trying her best to hold onto what was left of her composure, Adrianna looked up at the top of the pool, where Stile's legs kicked at the water to stay afloat. He was alone.

 _What happened?_ She wondered idly, already feeling her brain compressing painfully from lack of air and terror sickness—it might have also been due to the concussion she definitely had.

As her air ran out and she struggled to keep herself from breathing in, Adrianna clenched her fists and gritted her teeth as an agonized wail slipped past her lips in nothing more than bubbles.

 _Why can't I just keep it together?_ Adrianna balefully thought. _Why can't I be brave? I'm better than this; stronger than this._ But a small, indistinct part of her mind whispered that she really wasn't; that she was just a girl that had played with fire, and now she was finally getting burned.

Across from her about two feet, she blurrily made out Derek Hale's paralyzed form. He was regarding her with ruby red eyes. Part of her was comforted that he too was afraid, but the majority of her just felt even more horrified that her fear was legitimate.

Digging her fingernails into the tiles beneath her, hardly noticing when the skin tore and began to bleed, Adrianna tried her best to hold herself to the bottom of the pool. She knew that the moment she reached the surface, she'd have no chance at keeping her senses intact. Air was like a catalyst. At least down here, she was only drowning; not reliving what Gerard had done to her.

Water pressed against every orifice, threatening to filter into her nose and down her trachea, all the way to her lungs; killing her. She scratched even more furiously at the pool floor as she thought about exactly what drowning would feel like.

Distantly, she recognized that Derek was trying to mouth something to her. She didn't know what, but she could guess that he was chastising her for freaking out and not helping him instead.

Placing both hands over her ears, which pounded and felt like a thousands tons of pressure was weighing down on her, Adrianna curled into a ball as fearful tremors racked her body.

 _It's not real,_ she told herself as her lungs threatened to burn her alive. _It's not real._

“Oh but sweetie,” A voice suddenly said to her, sounding loud enough to be right next to her. “It is real.”

Adrianna knew that voice, perhaps better than she did her own. Despite everything that she'd done and all the things that had threatened to tear them apart, Kate would always be her mother.

“Mom?” Adrianna moaned weakly. Tears slid down her cheeks as she uncurled her head from where it had been bowed close to her chest, to look upon the kneeled over form of Kate Argent.

She felt her mother's scarred, agile fingers slide through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “It's me Addy.” Kate confirmed, smiling sweetly in a way Adrianna had rarely seen.

“But,” Adrianna fumbled, staring at her beautiful, healthy mother in awe and disbelief. “You're dead.” She muttered, confused.

“I want you to focus on me.” Kate told her, instead of answering. “Don't pay attention to anything other than my voice.”

Shaking her head, Adrianna reached out to touch Kate's arm, but stopped herself. If this was a dream, she didn't want it to end. “I don't understand.” Adrianna voiced, her head feeling light. “I was drowning.” She added, recalling in sudden, vivid clarity the feeling of water all around her.

“I _am_ drowning!” Adrianna realized as Kate's form became transparent and shimmery, like a mirage, and the cold, oppressive water came back into focus. “No, no, no, no, _no_.” Adrianna's voice quivered as she refused to accept the truth.

“Sweetie, Addy.” Kate called, trying to regain her daughter's attention but sounding far away and too weak to do so. “Kid!” She finally yelled, a growl making itself known in her voice, as it had when she'd been alive and real.

Adrianna abruptly stopped her complaining and furrowed her brow, still scared, but now forcing herself not to think about anything other than Kate.

Smiling now that she had her attention, Kate placed a hand on her hip, reaching out with her spare one towards Adrianna. “You really gonna let Gerard win?” She asked, and the way she said it, reminded Adrianna of a time when she'd been training, and Kate had said the very same thing.

“He's better than I am at this.” She replied, just as she had then, when she'd been knocked down for the seventh time in a row.

“Listen kid,” Kate lectured strictly, taking hold of Adrianna's chin so that she had no choice but to look her mother in the eyes. “You're _my_ daughter.” She admitted. “And no daughter of mine is gonna take a beating from a guy that's over fifty years older than her.”

Adrianna thought that, even though her mother had been speaking about her training with a broadsword, the same could be applied to her sudden, debilitating fear of water.

Kate smirked, the same way she'd always done, the same way Adrianna had seen herself do at times, and let go of the girl's chin. Her fingers seemed to waft away in clouds of murky smoke.

“Then stand back up,” Kate told her, already beginning to sound muted. “And kick the old man's ass for a change.” She prompted, disappearing without a trace.

All that was left was the water, her panic, and the desire to surpass her human weakness. She clenched her fists until her nails cut into the flesh of her palms and she bled. Slamming her hands against the tile floor beneath her, she screamed as the temptation to inhale became nearly unbearable. But then, she shut her eyes and found that, deep down in what was left of her heart, there was no fear.

Slowly, like a child taking it's first steps, Adrianna crawled across the bottom of the pool, towards Derek Hale. His stare was questioning, but she paid it no mind as she gripped onto both of his shoulders and shot up to the top of the pool.

Breaking the surface was another challenge altogether, but her resolve was absolute, and her stubbornness helped her to overcome the trauma. It also helped that she literally bumped into Stiles once she'd reached the top of the pool. The clumsy teen gasped pathetically before staring between her and Derek wondrously.

“What the hell?” He cried indignantly. “I dropped the phone to come get you!” He accused, pointing somewhere beneath the surface of the pool. Adrianna glared at him as blood trickled down her nose, invading her mouth with acidic copper. 

“Which one of you knocked me out?” She asked seriously. Derek was extremely quiet as Stiles gaped for an answer. “Whatever.” She dismissed eventually, although the answer was quite clear to her.

“Tell me you got him?” Derek asked after some of the tension had receded between them. Stiles was still swimming alone, with much less effort, and it was Adrianna that now held up Derek. He didn't seem very pleased about that fact.

“Um,” Stiles muttered, sounding slightly stricken. “No...” He trailed off as Derek glared and Adrianna huffed disappointedly.

“What do you mean, no?” Derek voiced dangerously as Adrianna begun to scan the poolside.

“I mean,” The spastic, freckled, extremely pale boy suddenly exclaimed with attitude that surprised Adrianna. “That he said he didn't have time to talk, and then hung up.” He explained, raising his voice. It was clear that Derek wasn't the only one mad at Scott's inability to pick up a phone.

“You know what,” Adrianna abruptly decided, loosening her grip on Derek, he turned his angry glare, which had morphed into one of fear and daring, onto her. “You loser can stay here, in the middle of a pool, exhausting yourself until you drown.” She pointed out to Stiles in particular, who gulped nervously. “But, I, for one, am getting out and finding my way home.”

She passed Derek over to Stiles then, who grunted and sunk several inches in the pool once the added weight had settled back onto him. Adrianna, with shaking fingers and a racing heart, still holding tight to her mother's advice in order not to freak out, hastily made her way to the edge of the pool.

“You can't fight it!” Derek yelled to her, his sentence half garbled from the water that threatened to consume them both.

Placing both hands on the solid tile floor in front of her face, Adrianna felt her strength returning and the panic receding until there was nothing but the distant memory of it.

“Watch me.” Adrianna called back, lifting herself up and out of the pool quickly and standing at the ready for the Kanima to attack her again. Only this time, she knew she could win. She was desperate after all and if Gerard had taught her one thing, it was that desperate people were dangerous.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Come on!” Adrianna screamed as the creature materialized from out of the shadows. “Bite me!” She taunted, swinging her hands at her sides as her heart raced comfortably fast, this time, and adrenaline made her vision sharp and focused.

The Kanima hissed at her, but did not charge. It seemed that it had remembered their previous duel and it was anything but eager to get back into the pool. Adrianna couldn't say she blamed it.

Instead of waiting for her opposition to make the first move, Adrianna did so herself, sliding across the wet tile floors and fearlessly attacking the beast. It hissed in what might have been surprise or outrage, and immediately fought back, but Adrianna was not easily defeated and she'd learned her lesson not to get distracted.

Catching the Kanima's tail as it tried to slash at her exposed neck, Adrianna pulled with all her might and toppled the reptile off it's clawed, scaly feet. It yelped and hissed defiantly as Adrianna somersaulted over it's temporarily disabled form and kicked it in the face. Her own head felt just a little bit less painful as her revenge set it.

Unfortunately, as her excitement got the better of her, the Kanima was able to grab hold of her foot mid-kick and twist. Adrianna felt bone snapping and heard it too. She screamed in pain and stumbled, but did not fall.

The Kanima, back on it's feet, regarded her keeled over form thoughtfully, almost in respect, as she regained her breath. It's forked tongue flicked out and tasted the charged air between them and Adrianna narrowed her gaze on the creature, determined not to lose.

“You think a broken ankle's gonna stop me?” She asked the Kanima as it tilted it's head, seemingly understanding what she was saying. Testing her foot with a slight amount of weight, Adrianna grimaced as white hot pain shot up her entire leg.

“Think again.” She told the creature as she gritted her teeth and stood straight. Something in her ankle crunched and agony nearly blinded her, but she was able to stand, although wobbly, and that was all that mattered.

The Kanima seemed to raise it's nonexistent eyebrows, impressed, before swiping a clawed hand her way. She wasn't anywhere near fast enough to dodge, so she stepped closer to the creature instead, pummeling it's rock solid chest with nothing but her bloodied knuckles.

Surprisingly, she was able to deal a fair amount of damage, eliciting painful hisses from the Kanima before it dug it's claws into her shoulders and pushed her into a nearby wall. It snarled, inches from her face, and she placed her hands on the creature's chest, pushing it away as their nearly equal strengths struggled for the upper hand.

Adrianna's nose began to bleed from the effort and her eyesight became blurry. She sunk her drastically shorter, but still damaging, fingernails into the Kanima's scaly hide and mucus-like, green blood trickled down her hands.

“Get off of me!” She screeched, jostling her body this way and that to no avail. The Kanima held fast, beginning to overpower her trembling arms. Adrianna thought of her mother, Gerard, and of all the other creature's she'd fought and won against. The Kanima would not defeat her. Not today.

With a muted cry, Adrianna found power and strength from a place deep within her heart and her arms stabilized their shaking as she slowly overpowered the Kanima. With widened eyes, the creature flew to the ground at such speed, that it sailed across the pool deck, straight into the opposite wall where a Kanima sized crater was formed in the broken tiles.

Adrianna heaved, sweating profusely, as she smirked tiredly and advanced; now the superior force in the quarrel. The Kanima hissed at her as it limped to it's feet, but it was clearly hurting as it favoured it's left side. Adrianna knew that she had to strike again soon and strong, otherwise the Kanima would heal before she had a chance to defeat it.

Slamming the heel of her palm into the Kanima's seemingly injured side, Adrianna was rewarded with the loud, rewarding snap of what might have been ribs. The Kanima hissed angrily, swatting both arms at her from either direction but Adrianna had the sense to duck and, using her good leg to support herself, kicked at one of the Kanima's legs, but it was not done yet, dodging gracefully and slapping her to the side with the tail she'd foolishly forgotten about.

Landing on the ground with a painful grunt, Adrianna tested her jaw as pain bloomed in the area. Blood pooled in her mouth and she spit out phlegmy globules of red saliva before she could choke on it.

“Damn,” She muttered, as the Kanima flicked it's tail back and forth, pleased that it had inflicted damage upon her. “That tail of yours is a real bitch.” She swore, pushing her soaked-through hair over her shoulder and wiping her bloody lips.

Screeching, as though laughing, the Kanima charged her, pressing her back to the ground and dragging her all the way to the far wall, which had a large, shiny, polished glass window inset about four feet off the ground. It picked her up as she kicked uselessly, digging her thumbs into it's bony shoulders but not having as much luck as she' d had before, and slammed her into the window.

Adrianna felt warm, slick blood seep out of her back as pin pricks tingled all over her back from shards of glass that had embedded into her soft flesh. All around her, fragments of the window lay scattered and, as the Kanima hissed once more and lunged at her, she took hold of a particularly long shard and stabbed the creature with it.

It moaned in agony, scrambling away from her as it clutched at it's side. It was then that Adrianna noticed Scott McCall, crouched low on one of the pool's diving boards, in full werewolf form, growling a challenge at the Kanima.

Battered, bloody, but not beaten, Adrianna nodded at the boy as she stood with great effort. Together, they took on the Kanima, slashing with claws, punching with swollen fists and kicking at anything they could, Scott and Adrianna corralled the beast against the wall she'd found herself trapped against only a few moments ago.

Scott, like herself, picked up a chunk of glass and held it at the ready as the Kanima hissed, cornered. He held the weapon askew and away from his body—Adrianna knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto it for long if he fought with it like that—but before any more violence or blood could be dealt out, the dim moonlight outside caught on the glass and reflected back at the Kanima as it saw it's own reflection.

The Kanima recoiled and shuddered, hissing and clawing at anything it could as it suddenly scampered up the wall and out of the rooftop skylight, disappearing from sight.

Adrianna breathed deeply before she felt her knees turn to jelly. She would have fallen, had Scott not reached out to steady her. Stiles and Derek, apparently out of the pool and no longer paralyzed, walked up to them.

“Are you alright?” Her temporary ally asked her. Adrianna tried not to think about what she'd just learned. Of course, she'd has suspicions, but she'd never actually wanted to believe that Allison's boyfriend was a werewolf. It seemed now, she had no other choice.

“I'm fine.” She succinctly answered, pushing away from him only to stumble again on her rapidly swelling ankle. “Damn it.” She swore as Scott placed a hand on her bicep once more. “This is so embarrassing.” She muttered bitterly, aware that her mother and grandfather would have her head if they could see her show this much weakness. Then again, she had fought off a Kanima, so she figured she'd earned at least a moment or two of reprieve.

Derek regarded her silently, now standing on his own, as he examined her from head to toe. Scott handed something to Stiles that she recognized as a USB drive, suspiciously similar to Gerard's portable Physiologus.

“Where'd you get that?” She questioned the spastic boy as he pocketed it quickly, sharing a meaningful glance with Scott.

“Get what?” Stiles replied, ostensibly naive. She didn't buy it for a second but followed the others out of the pools without another word. There'd be a time and place for questions, but then and there wouldn't be it.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Scott rifled through his best friend's jeep for the laptop he knew Stiles always kept there. He glanced out of the foggy windshield at the others nearby. Stiles and Adrianna were standing close together, while Derek and Erica were still exiting the school, taking the steps two at a time.

He'd fought alongside Allison's cousin only a few minutes ago, and yet, he still couldn't believe what he'd witnessed. She'd been strong and fast and extremely capable of reducing the creature to a pulp with her bare hands. Scott hadn't even noticed that she'd been seriously injured and weapon-less until after the fight, when she'd nearly fallen flat.

“Did you find it?” Stiles asked him impatiently and Scott redirected his attention to finding the laptop before either one of them realized he'd been staring.

“Not yet.” He called back, looking over at them from the corner of his eye, he saw Adrianna huff exasperatedly and place her hands on her hips as she leaned most of her weight against the car. “Okay, got it!” He suddenly pronounced as his fingers brushed the ridged top.

Pulling it out from under the seat and into his arms, Scott carried the computer over to Stiles, who set it onto the hood of the car and, trying to appear casual, slotted the USB into one of the ports.

A faded white page with fancy letters popped up in a language that was completely foreign to him, scrawled like Scott had seen old documents from Greek and Roman times. Stiles and Scott looked at each other, confused.

“That's it,” Stiles complained. “That's the—” He broke off as Scott glared at him, pointing his chin out towards Adrianna who had yet to glance over at them, too busy glaring at Derek and his beta. “History project.” Stiles said instead, sounding demoralized as he too realized that they couldn't read it.

“Is that even a language?” Stiles asked as Scott squinted at the screen. Frustration leaked into Scott's usually optimistic mood, making him place a tired hand across his forehead.

“So,” Adrianna spoke out of the blue. Beside him, Stiles shivered. “I see you've gotten your hands on a copy of my family's Physiologus.” She commented idly, as though the five syllables of gibberish she'd just said didn't boggle Scott's mind.

Apparently, he was the only one who was confused, as Stiles turned three shades paler and snapped the top of his laptop closed. “No,” He stuttered. “That's not what happened at all.” He tried to explain as Scott furrowed his brow, even more lost than he'd been before. “Scott here,” Stiles continued, slapping Scott's shoulder roughly, but was silenced as Adrianna raised a blood-stained hand.

“Enough of your excuses.” She sounded irritated. “Tell me, does Gerard know that you've stolen it, or are you so dimwitted that you thought you could get away with such a crime, unpunished?” Adrianna asked.

Her words slipped off her lips smoothly, as though she had a knack for pronouncing strange, unrecognizable words. Scott would have wondered if she could read the bestiary for them, had he not caught the gist of what she'd just said.

“How—” He started, but thought differently a moment later. “Can't we all just work together?” He pleaded. “How are we supposed to figure out what that thing is without your help?” He rhetorically questioned.

“It's called a Kanima.” Derek spoke as he and his beta approached. Scott could see Adrianna's hackles rising as he understood that she understood that she was surrounded by three werewolves. Shaking his head, he tried to think clearly, but found that his state of confusion could not be remedied.

“You knew the whole time?” He heard Stiles indignantly ask.

“Don't be stupid,” Adrianna interrupted before Derek could speak for himself. “Of course he didn't.” She told them, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, and you did?” Derek retorted hotly, stepping forward like he wanted to throttle the huntress. “That thing kicked your ass the first time and then, after you got over your mental breakdown, you still couldn't properly fight it.”

Scott felt his brow pinch as more information he didn't understand muddled his thoughts. _What breakdown?_ He wanted to ask, but seeing the hostility rising in the air at the mere mention of it, decided against it.

“Firstly,” Adrianna counted off on her fingers, glaring hatefully at all of them. “You didn't do much better than I did.” She directed at Derek, who remained silent, presumably because she was telling the truth.

“Secondly,” She continued with just as much fervour. “I saved your life.” She remained looking at the ornery alpha. “Don't you forget that.” She reminded him sternly, like she was lecturing children.

“And thirdly,” Her voice was strained as she skipped over an explanation for her supposed breakdown. “I believe that, if my memory serves me right, I was the one that actually fought the Kanima and won, at the end.” She mocked them, sounding so much like Kate that Scott felt his mouth grow slightly slack.

If he hadn't believed that she was Kate Argent's daughter,—the fiery, angry, violent, murderous huntress—he certainly did now.

“You only survived because Scott saved your ass at the last minute.” Derek excused. The two of them had a stare-off, as though none of the others present really mattered. Scott felt like there was a bomb waiting to go off at the bottom of the bitterness and hostility.

“Let me tell you something that you will never hear me say again,” Adrianna finally spoke, sounding dangerously calm. “I will never, and have never, needed anyone's help to kill the supernaturals around me. Their blood stains my hands and their dying wails ring in my ears. I do it by command and I do it swiftly and without mercy.” She informed them, behind Derek, Erica looked like she was going to be sick, Stiles wasn't much better.

Scott noticed Derek's intensely loathing expression begin to diminish, being replaced by what might have been shame and pity.

“I have been raised as a weapon,” She continued, voice straining with emotion. “And anyone who doubts my ability to act as such, will find themselves at the edge of my sword, begging for forgiveness from a heart I no longer have.”

The silence, then, once she finished speaking, was more deafening than anything Scott had ever heard. He wondered what the Argents had done to her, to make her so closed-off; to make her do what she claimed she had.

“No,” Derek admitted to Stiles previous question, stopping the awkward tension from escalating further. “Only when it was confused by its own reflection.”

Scott looked over at Adrianna but found that her head was hung low, refusing to look any one of them in the eyes after her sudden confession. “It doesn't know what it is.” Scott guessed.

“Or who.” Derek agreed somberly.

“What else do you know?” Stiles piped up. He hadn't taken his eyes off the huntress, whether out of fear or curiosity, Scott wasn't sure.

“Just stories,” Derek shared. “Rumours.”

Frowning, Scott realized that Derek wasn't as all-knowing as he claimed to be, when it came to the supernatural world. “But it's like us?” He questioned, remembering how different the Kanima had been to anything he'd ever heard about.

“A shape-shifter, yes,” The eldest werewolf verified. “But it's—it's not right.” He told them. For some reason, his gaze slipped away from Scott, towards Adrianna. “It's like a—” He struggled to describe, something softening behind his eyes as the battered girl played with her fingers, still declining to meet their gazes.

“An abomination.” Stiles finished. Scott remembered that Coach had called the oversized lacrosse player that had nearly cost Beacon Hills the game, the very same thing.

If Scott hadn't had enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have heard Adrianna scoffing as she breathed, hoping no one heard her. “Like me.”

Derek's expression tightened once more and he turned to leave without another word. Scott called out to him. “Derek?” He beckoned, still wanting to talk about things that had been left unsaid. “We need to work together on this.” He repeated. “Maybe even tell the Argents.” He suggested.

Adrianna perked up, staring at him in disbelief. “You trust them?” Derek asked incredulously, pointing towards the girl sitting on top of Stiles' jeep.

“Nobody trusts anyone!” Scott blurted, finally having enough of all the secrets and lies that had been shared between the two sides; between Allison's family and his kind. “That's the problem.” He expounded, gesturing between Adrianna and Derek for further emphasis.

“While we're here, arguing about who's on what side,” Scott said with certainty. “There's something scarier, stronger, and faster than any of us, and it's killing people and we still don't even know anything about it.” He finished loudly, out of breath.

“I know one thing,” Derek stubbornly told them. “When I find it? I'm gonna kill it!” He roared.

Adrianna smirked, hopping off the hood of the car and walking past Derek, slapping his shoulder patronizingly on the way. “Good luck with that.” She scorned, before trekking out into the parking lot as though she intended to walk all the way home.

She disappeared into the forest before Scott could dwell on it further. Only then did he realize that she hadn't been limping.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His granddaughter returned home late at night with blood covering her hands and staining her clothes. Gerard hardly had to ask to know what had happened, but he had to admit, it had surprised him to find out that most of the blood was in fact, hers.

Gerard had thought he'd trained her better than that but apparently, even Adrianna Argent, demigod and by far his finest weapon, was human; imperfect. As she sat beside him in the car they'd used to drive to the hospital, he reminded himself that she hadn't been a total failure.

Despite her disheveled appearance, Adrianna wasn't injured and the information she'd been able to relay to him had almost been worth the disappointment he felt knowing that his hold over her was slipping.

She'd told him that Scott McCall was a werewolf, which he'd already figured out, and that the creature responsible for killing one of his hunters was a Kanima. Gerard already had a variety of ideas as to what he could do with such an animal, the majority of which involved Adrianna's complete and total loyalty.

Which brought him back to point. She'd left something out. He could tell by the way her fingers twitched impatiently and her lips constantly bent and pressed together.

“Go over it again, for me.” He told her, watching as the old, dark grey Volvo pulled up in front of the hospital with Scott himself behind the wheel. Adrianna huffed irately, but did as he asked.

“I got out of detention,” She started. “I heard what sounded like a fight and ran in that direction. Then, I fought the Kanima, got my ass handed to me,” She swore casually, cringing as Gerard glared at her.

“Language.” He reminded her strictly, before waving his hand for her to continue.

“Anyway,” She said dismissively. “After that, I got stuck in the pool for a while and then I went up against the Kanima again, with Scott's help this time, and we managed to scare it off.”

Gerard didn't like it. Hearing it one or two, even three times, hadn't changed that. The way she'd so readily cooperated with Scott, even after realizing that he was a werewolf, shook Gerard to his core. He couldn't trust her if she didn't chose her side.

“Was there anything else you neglected to mention.” He finally spoke, tapping his weathered, slightly wrinkled hands against the steering wheel impatiently. Adrianna looked out the window instead of meeting his gaze. Her brow was furrowed as he saw her debating whether to tell him the whole truth.

“There is one thing you should know.” She told him plaintively, speaking quietly but clearly.

“And what's that.” Gerard prompted, trying not to permit his excitement to show in his tone or expression. He couldn't have her catching onto his plan. It was vital for his survival.

“They stole your book.” Adrianna's voice was thick with emotion. Perhaps sadness, perhaps outrage; he could never tell with her. It was one of the things he both loved and hated about her. She made an excellent double agent but he wasn't always sure how she really felt. 

Finally meeting his intense gaze, Adrianna's lips quirked in an amused little smile. “Scott stole your Physiologus but they don't even know how to read it.” She shared, running a hand through her slightly damp hair. He noticed that she wasn't wearing her jacket. It spiked concern within him.

“Then they're as useless as they are stupid.” He was apoplectic and his normally deep, resonating voice cracked under the strain of his fury. “I need to know, Adrianna,” He found himself saying. “Can I trust you?” He asked.

Her eyes widened and her fists clenched. She didn't answer right away but when she did, he didn't have to deal with the nonsense Allison had put him through. “Absolutely.” She had conviction in her voice.

“Good,” Gerard replied, pleased with himself. “Then do this for me.” He told her, holding out the handle of a serrated blade for her to take. He looked from her, to the young beta that had just gotten out of his car, and then back. Adrianna nodded but did not speak.

As Gerard climbed out of the car and his granddaughter followed behind him, towards Scott, he felt the familiar adrenaline buzz in his veins that he'd become accustomed to since he was eighteen years old and trusted with his first solo hunt. Soon, he understood, it would be Adrianna's turn. But not yet; not until he'd gotten what he needed from her.

“Don't move.” Gerard warned as they came within a few feet of Scott and Adrianna, after a short moment of indecision that Gerard internally frowned upon, pushed the knife within the beta's stomach, inches from his lungs.

“Even though I can practically feel the tissue around the blade already trying to heal,” Adrianna added, slipping into her own smartly crafted shell—so similar to her mother's—as easily as one took a deep breath. “You never know with a beta.”

“Besides,” Gerard felt his voice lighten with his pride. “We'd lose this perfect picture.” He gestured between them. “The kind old grandfather embracing his favourite grandson after hearing good news from the doctor, and the supporting sister-in-law close behind with nothing but kind words and heartfelt wishes.”

Smiling cryptically, Gerard placed his own hand over Adrianna's and pushed the knife in deeper. Scott grimaced but didn't cry out. “That's right.” He admitted, delighted to have fooled the boy. “I can play the nice, doddering grandpa who likes to cook and tell stories and be sweet and charming, and trust me, I can do it far better than you playing 'average broken-hearted teenage boy'.”

Gerard twisted Adrianna's trembling hand and took note, with some degree of discontent, that she'd missed all of his internal organs. “Are you listening?” He demanded of Scott, taking note that the boy had glanced over towards the hospital doors, no doubt looking for help.

“Yes.” The beta spat through clenched teeth. It seemed even the most innocent and gentle of werewolves, had a darker, more barbaric side.

“Perfect. Now, you're going to do me a favour one of these days,” He informed the boy, holding the knife fast as he felt Adrianna's hand try to pull back. “And you're going to do it, because if you don't, this knife goes in her.” He gestured towards the woman exiting the hospital. Melissa McCall; the boy's mother.

“Scott?” He asked as the werewolf's angry gaze remained trained on the dark haired woman only a few yards away from them. “I truly believe that it's so much easier when bad things don't have to happen to good people.” He said to Scott with false sympathy. “Don't you agree?”

“Yes.” The boy answered tightly. Gerard felt a thrill of satisfaction at the power he held over a creature such as Scott. All it took was a little bit of pain and a well placed threat to gain the upper hand over those stronger than you; Gerard had learned that long ago.

Removing his hand over Adrianna's, his young protege quickly extracted the knife. As he turned to walk away, he caught her silently apologizing to the injured, resentful beta. “Adrianna.” He reminded her sharply from his position some feet away.

She needed no further prompting to trail behind him all the way back to the car, but Gerard knew that there was a part of her inches away from snapping every form of control he had over her. It was a part he needed to silence immediately.

“It's cold out.” He told her, opening the back passenger's door instead of his own to retrieve the leather jacket he'd given her after Kate's funeral. It had belonged to the woman herself and he knew, without a doubt, that it was important to him for more that just it's sentimental value.

“Here, you left this at the house.” He held out the jacket for her to wear, freshly dried after her tussle with the Kanima in the pools. “I had it washed for you.” He explained as she took the coat and hesitantly sniffed the fabric in her hands.

“Thank you.” She smiled, slipping her arms into the sleeves before getting into the front seat.

Gerard nodded his head, sadistic pleasure forcing his lips into a wide, joyous smile. Now, she was all his. Now, his plan was foolproof. The best part was that she wouldn't even know he was using her until it was too late.


	5. Venomous

Leaning against one of the many large, rusty support beams in the abandoned warehouse Derek had chosen for pack meetings and training sessions, among other things, Isaac twirled the sharp blade he'd picked up at the ice rink, and stared as his reflection shone back at him.

He still thought about her, Adrianna. Derek had told him what'd happened at the pool, how she'd fought off the Kanima with nothing more than her fists and her own will.

Isaac felt his eyes glow the longer his mind dwelled on the huntress. He still didn't have full control over everything that came with being a werewolf. Tucking away the knife inside the back pocket of his jeans, Isaac ran a hand through his short, wavy hair and breathed a deep sigh.

Across the open, concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse, Derek regarded him curiously. “She's a hunter.” He spoke, as though he could literally read the boy's thoughts. “All she'll do is bring you suffering and pain.” He tried to persuade his beta. 

“Yeah,” Isaac replied, still slightly star-struck. “But she's not all bad. She let us live, after all.” He reminded Derek.

The older man licked his lips and averted his eyes, refusing to comment further. Isaac knew he had a point then and the small, whimsical, half-hopeful smile that slid across his lips was hardly containable. That was, until Erica dragged Jackson in, complaining loudly and demanding that he be released. Isaac moved to help her hold the surprisingly strong boy, steady.

“What happened to you on the night of the full moon?” Derek asked, sitting on the nearby steps of the subway car that he'd been living in recently.

Jackson stopped struggling, glaring at the alpha as he looked between Isaac and Erica. It gave Isaac the impression that the rich kid was doubting the seriousness of Derek's intentions. That in itself was enough to anger Isaac into growling lowly, eyes a shiny amber.

“What?” Jackson mocked, tilting his head back. “Nothing. Nothing happened.” He spat acidly.

Derek took no offense to the teen's outrage, calmly fitting his right hand into a snug, black glove. “You're lying.” He replied, starting to work on the other hand.

Isaac tightened his grip over Jackson's left arm at the same time Erica did. “No, wait. No, wait.” He repeated frantically. Jackson's voice rose in pitch and intensity the more scared he became. “I can—I can prove it.” He hesitantly admitted.

The werewolves paused, giving him the chance to explain. “I taped myself.” Jackson said, looking down and away from the other's degrading stares.

“You taped yourself?” Isaac couldn't help but ask. He'd lived across from this kid all his life; he'd known he was weird in ways that couldn't be explained, but this was just— _crazy_. On the other hand, the self-obsession required for such an act, fit Jackson to a tee.

“Yes.” The other boy hotly defended. “It was the full moon and maybe while you were curled in the corner, having an existential crisis about turning into a monster, I was preparing for the so-called gift your big, bag alpha promised me.” He ranted. Isaac took a minute step back. He'd forgotten how intense Jackson could get.

“And what did I get?” He rhetorically phrased. “Nothing.” Looking directly at Derek, Jackson breathed deeply before continuing. “You want proof? Let me get the video.” He asked.

“No,” Derek dashed the boy's hopes, grasping onto the nearby shard of glass they'd collected from the pool and shining the refracted light into Jackson's eyes. “No, I have a better idea.” He told him darkly.

Jackson's heart-rate picked up as his eyes flitted about the warehouse like a caught rabbit. “What is that?” His voice trembled, but only just.

“You know, Jackson,” Derek explained, standing to his feet with the glass still tightly clutched in his gloved hands. Jackson's eyes followed the possible weapon with diligence. “You've always been kind of a snake—” Derek told the boy. Isaac smirked in agreement. “And everyone knows a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom.”

Erica tightened her hold on Jackson even further as Isaac removed one hand from the boy's arm to grab onto his chin, prying apart the clamped together jaw so that Derek could slot the glass into place, dripping the Kanima's venom into Jackson's mouth.

Isaac couldn't help but hoping that the boy who'd watched but never helped him for close to sixteen years, was the creature they'd been looking for, if only so he could have his revenge in killing him.

Unfortunately, as soon as the venom made contact with Jackson's tongue, he began convulsing violently. Both werewolves stepped aside as he fell to the floor, completely paralyzed.

Isaac stood next to Derek with Erica on his other side. The disappointment was nearly palpable as Jackson's round, frightened eyes wondered what had happened to him. It was almost enough to satisfy Isaac's umbrage.

Sighing, Derek set the glass aside and took off his gloves. Leaning down beside the boy, he was in no way apologetic for what they'd done. “You're still a snake, Jackson,” He informed the incapacitated boy. “Just not the one we're looking for.”

As Erica walked past, smiling with a hint of seduction and a lot of satisfaction, Isaac felt his expression betray his amusement and his anticipation. Crouching down so that he was eye-level with the boy, Isaac smirked.

“You're still gonna have to do one more thing for us,” He told Jackson, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, actually,” He corrected. “For me.”

Isaac couldn't wait to be able to go out into the world, unafraid of being persecuted for a murder he hadn't committed. He was also eager to get back to school, where he knew a certain green-eyed, brown-haired huntress would be.

Even though Derek had warned him about her—multiple times—he found that he just couldn't stay away. Maybe he was slightly masochistic, or maybe he just didn't care; whatever it was, Adrianna had something that had caught his attention and kept it. He wanted to find out what it was.

No, he _needed_ to.

If he didn't, he feared he'd lose his mind.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Isaac was back in school, as he'd learned from his father, Scott, and his own pretty, hazel eyes. But, sadly, that wasn't the worst of it. What was worse, much, much worse, was that Derek was now having his beta's test Lydia for possibly being the Kanima.

Stiles' day literally couldn't get any worse.

And then, Adrianna Argent walked into Economics and he realized that it just had. She sat behind Scott and—as Jackson took a seat behind Stiles—beside the grumpy, rich, teenager who had yet to say anything nice to him.

“Hey,” Jackson called as Adrianna sorted through her papers and Stiles tried to ignore him. “Testicle left and right.” The boy tried to gain their attention once more. “What the hell is a Kanima?”

Stiles turned dramatically, just as Scott and Adrianna did, to look at the confused, very pissed off Jackson. Stiles and Scott had shock written over their faces, but Adrianna looked pensive. Stiles knew it wasn't a good thing but before he could say something about it, class begun.

“All right, listen up.” Coach commanded from the front of the classroom. “A quick warning before we begin our review. Some of you, like McCall,” He targeted shamelessly. “Might want to start their own study groups, because tomorrow's midterm is so profoundly difficult,” He warned. “I'm not even too sure I could pass it.”

Stiles breathed deeply as his best friend shrunk in his seat under the scrutiny of the whole class. Finstock had a particular liking for publicly humiliating Scott and today hadn't even been the worst Stiles had seen it get.

“Okay,” Coach continued, scanning the uncomfortable faces of the students in his class; all of which wanted to avoid Scott's embarrassment. “I need a volunteer at the board to answer the first question.” He told the group. “Who's got it, huh?”

Stiles raised his hand, as he noticed Lydia did as well, but the coach picked another random student near the front. “Come on, let's go, buddy.” He encouraged. Without any further dedication needed to be paid towards the class, Stiles turned in his seat to face Jackson, as did Scott.

“Paralyzed from the neck down.” The arrogant teen complained in a whisper that wasn't as quiet as Stiles would have liked. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?” He asked brusquely.

Nodding his head slightly, Stiles noticed that Adrianna was also paying attention. Although she was still facing the board, her pencil was idle and her eyes were closed in concentration.

“I'm familiar with the sensation.” Stiles replied, choosing to ignore the scary, killer huntress for the sake of his own rapidly degrading mental health. Jackson simply rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

“Wait,” Scott spoke up, sounding confused—as he usually did. “Why would Derek test you? Why would he think that it's you?”

“How should I know?” Jackson retorted hotly, narrowing his gaze between the two boys.

Stiles looked around the classroom for other possible suspects that Derek would take into consideration and one in particular stood out. She also had a connection to Jackson, which might explain why he'd been tested. “Wait,” He said, getting that manic gleam in his eyes that he usually did when he had an idea. “Do they think it's Lydia?”

Jackson shrugged disinterestedly. “I don't know.” He shared, apparently truthful because he'd never admit so in any other situation. “All I heard was her name and something about chemistry.”

“Jackson!” Coach yelled, indiscriminately singling out anyone who dared talk in his class; even if it was Jackson Whittemore, Co-Captain of the lacrosse team and all-around handsome, popular jock. “Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?” He questioned.

“Um—” The teen stuttered, obviously unused to being called out when he was doing something wrong. “Just an undying admiration for my—my coach.” Jackson managed to say. Stiles would have thought that a pathological liar like him would have been good at falsifying truths, but apparently not.

“That's really kind of you.” Finstock happily replied, nearly smiling. “Now shut up! Shut it!” He demanded. “Anybody else?”

The entire class was quiet for another few minutes after that, which Stiles had to admit, he kind of admired. It was more than a little difficult to keep over thirty teens below the fifty decibel mark.

“How do we know it's not her?” Scott asked after the coach had settled down, leaning against his desk and flipping through a sports magazine.

Glancing around for possible rats, Stiles eyed Adrianna, who still hadn't looked at him or Scott, before answering. “Because I looked into the eyes of that thing, okay?” He explained. “And what I saw was pure evil. And when I look into Lydia's eyes, I only see fifty percent evil. Alright, maybe sixty.” Stiles corrected, as Scott raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “You know, but no more than forty on a good day.” He tried to excuse.

Scott shook his head, also staring at the red head they'd been talking about. “Stiles,” He lamented. “That's not a very good argument.”

“I'm aware of that,” Stiles snapped back, losing control over his emotions, as he usually did when Lydia Martin was involved. “But I swear it's not her.” He promised his friend. “It can't be, all right? Lydia's fine.”

Scott didn't say anything else as Lydia walked up to the board and took hold of a piece of chalk. There was something different about the way she walked, Stiles noticed, like she was half-asleep. And then, something strange happened, something that made even Stiles question whether he was right about the girl's state of mind.

Lydia turned around, an expression of pure terror written across her face and began whimpering and crying. Stiles' hands clenched the edge of his desk, wondering what was wrong. Behind him, he noticed Adrianna had her eyes trained on Lydia, concern possibly swimming in the anarchic depths of her green eyes.

“Lydia?” Coach asked, drawing out the name as he himself seemed to freak out a bit over the girl's meltdown. It didn't work, as she kept crying and emitting frightened noises that made Stiles' heart clench.

And then, as suddenly as a lightning bolt hitting the earth, Adrianna stood up from her desk, her chair screeching and her books shuffling from the movement, and called out to her. “Lydia!” She shouted, voice deep and gravelly.

Comprehension seemed to uncloud from her eyes as Lydia Martin stopped crying, standing in front of the class with a piece of chalk clutched tightly in her palm and her makeup smudged by tears.

“Okay then,” Finstock drawled unsurely. “Anybody else want to try answering? This time in English?” He scanned the classroom, waiting for another volunteer as Lydia half-turned to see what she'd written in large, block letters.

With a tiny, mortified squeak, Lydia ran from the class, slamming the door closed on her way out. Adrianna, who was still standing, seemed to want to go after her, moving one foot towards the door before thinking better of it and sitting back down.

“What is that, Greek?” Scott muttered to Stiles, who, with a theory buzzing in his brain, wasn't really paying attention to anything other than the picture he'd taken with his phone.

“Trust me,” Adrianna said; her voice caused Scott to jump beside him, as though frightened. “That's not Greek.” She told them, brushing some hair out of her face and returning to her notes.

“Yeah,” Stiles found himself agreeing, frowning as he wondered how the girl had figured it out. “I think it actually is English.” He showed the picture to Scott, reversing it as the words 'SOMEONE HELP ME' replaced the confusing letters on the board.

“How'd you know?” Stiles asked the girl behind him, oblivious to the way Scott's lips pressed together in anger.

Stiles noticed that the right side of her lips lifted before dropping, almost like a shrug, before she exhaled air through her nose. “Greek, Latin, French.” She listed. “A girl's gotta know her languages.”

The word hunter was left unsaid, but rang in Stiles' ears just as clearly as if she'd shouted it. Again, he wished that Adrianna would help them to decode the bestiary, but with what had happened at the pool and the way Scott was refusing to look at her, as though something _else_ had happened that he hadn't told him yet, Stiles severely doubted that would happen any time soon.

**#-#-#-#-#**

She was concerned and curious at the same time. Adrianna knew she shouldn't be. After all, Lydia wasn't exactly out of the woods yet when it came to proving she was one hundred percent human, but there was just something about her that kept Adrianna invested in the girl.

Her meltdown during Economics had scared Adrianna. The last time something like that had happened to Lydia, it had been at the ice rink and Adrianna had been able to see it too. This time, she hadn't seen anything.

“Einstein once said, 'Two things are infinite; the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.'” Mr. Harris began as she settled into a seat. Sadly, there was no space available next to Lydia as Scott and Stiles had already sat on either side of her. She'd have to wait until after chemistry was over to speak to her.

“I myself have encountered infinite stupidity.” Harris informed them, clapping a hand over Stiles' shoulder. The boy beside Adrianna with glasses and a multitude of freckles, gulped nervously as he opened his textbook and began to dutifully read.

“So to combat the plague of ignorance in my class,” The greasy-haired teacher continued confidently. “You're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski's case, less than one.” He told them, walking to the front of the class and clapping his hands together.

“Erica, you take the first station.” Harris decided promptly. “You'll start with--” He debated, looking through the class.

Just as he'd finished saying so, nearly the entire class raised their hands, eager to be chosen to work with the suddenly beautiful, sexy, popular girl. The boy beside Adrianna, she thought his name might be Greenberg, also had his hand raised. Rolling her eyes, Adrianna wondered when kids her age had become so pitiful.

“I didn't ask for volunteers.” Mr. Harris angrily reprimanded them as Erica smiled happily at the attention she was receiving. “Put your hormonal little hands down. Start with Mr. McCall.” The teacher briefed them, paying no heed to the round of disappointed groans.

“All right, next two.” He went on, pairing up the remainder of the class until he'd gotten to the end. “Adrianna Argent,” He called, a tremor in his voice as his suddenly shaking hands held fast to the day's itinerary. “You're with Greenberg.” He determined, not meeting her gaze as he promptly sat down at his desk.

“You may begin.” He told the class.

Adrianna knew what he was doing. Trying to get back at her for what she'd done at detention by pairing her with one of the least-likeable kids in the entire class. She raised her eyebrows, slightly impressed, before pushing aside her book and facing her teammate.

“You'll be doing all the work.” She casually demanded with no room for debate. “I hope you're good at chemistry.”

The boy nodded, his forehead sweating, before clumsily adding ingredients from glass tubes into a fragile-looking beaker. Adrianna crossed her arms over her chest, looking around at the class. Erica had her hand on Scott's upper leg, apparently trying to seduce him, while Lydia was talking to Allison. A few tables in front of her, Adrianna noticed the curly-haired beta she'd spared at the sheriff's station what felt like a lifetime ago, staring at her.

She lifted her brows as the once shy boy smirked back at her, not at all embarrassed to be caught gazing at her. Something in the hollow part of her chest where her heart should be, twisted sharply and it was she that looked away first.

“Switch.” Harris said boredly, tapping his hand against the top of the bell he had on his desk to inform them of when their turns ended. Adrianna felt relieved as she stood up and searched for someone more interesting to sit with.

But by the time she'd collected her stuff, the seat next to Lydia had already been taken by Scott. Allison had Erica as a partner and Stiles was sitting next to Isaac. Adrianna had no choice but to sit back down next to Greenberg and make sure that she was fast enough to get close to Lydia, the next time Harris called for a switch.

The boy beside her looked at her strangely, glancing around the classroom, confused. “You're supposed to change partners.” He told her, as though she didn't know.

“Just shut up and work, Greenberg.” She growled, glaring at him heatedly until he caved and redirected his attention to their failing experiment.

Once more, her eyes were drawn across the room as the nagging sensation at the base of her skull told her that someone was staring at her. Erica and Allison seemed to be in deep conversation, the likes of which, Adrianna could guess had something to do with Allison's not-boyfriend, Scott. Adrianna didn't much care for such things, so she moved on.

It was then that Stiles' table caught her attention. The gangly boy was hunched over various sets of tubes containing chemicals of all colours, whispering in sour tones to Isaac, who, while he was smirking, amused by Stile's anger, would glance back at her every few seconds.

When he saw that she was looking at him, this time, he smiled widely. It was nice. Different than the way he was around Derek and even Stiles, pretending to be someone he obviously wasn't. It reminded Adrianna of herself, whenever she was with Gerard.

The bell seemed to ring faster, that time, or perhaps it was just that she'd been more distracted. Whatever the reason, as Harris called, “Switch”, in his dull, monotone voice, Adrianna bolted from her chair, aiming to finally sit beside Lydia, who was very popular today, but finding that someone else had beaten her, yet again. Unsurprisingly, it was a perturbed looking Stiles.

Huffing in exasperation, Adrianna felt her stomach sinking. At this point, she'd never be able to ask the red head whether she was alright, or not. Just as she was about to accept her fate to be stuck with Greenberg for the remainder of the class, she noticed an empty seat at a table directly behind Lydia.

_If I can't be beside her, I can at least be near her,_ she reasoned. 

Rushing to the table, worried that someone else would steal the seat and she'd have to return to the stuttering, sweating boy she'd began to seriously resent, Adrianna sat down and slipped her textbook onto the table with a grateful sigh.

That was, until she realized that her partner was none other than Isaac Lahey himself. He grinned at her, seemingly not believing his luck, before scooting his chair a few inches closer to hers and leafing through her chemistry book until he reached the chapter they were on. He smelled like rust and pine. It made her head spin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” He told her, leaning even closer to her as he took a whiff of her hair. His nose brushed her neck and she felt a shiver race up her spine. Adrianna wasn't familiar with the sensation bubbling within her gut. She'd only ever felt hatred, fear, sadness, and the occasional bright but easily evaporated pang of joy. This was none of those.

“You know,” He said in a near whisper. She could feel the smile on his lips, they were so close to her skin. “I never did thank you for saving my life.” Her heart felt light as it skipped faster, like it did whenever she exerted herself.

Isaac laughed against her skin and Adrianna saw out of the corner of her eye, that Allison, Stiles, Lydia, and Scott were all looking at her with varying expressions. Lydia appeared encouraging, while Stiles and Allison seemed to be concerned. The look on Scott's face couldn't be described as anything other than abhorrence.

“You did,” She found the concentration to reply. Adrianna hated herself for sounding breathless. “I remember, at the sheriff's station.” She finished more strongly, but the damage was done.

His teeth brushed her neck rather gently as his hand creeped up her jean-clad thigh. “You're not as dangerous as everyone seems to make you out to be.” He whispered in her ear, forcing goosebumps to rise on her arms and fury to envelop whatever else she'd been feeling.

“Listen, sweetie.” She began venomously. Isaac raised his eyebrows as she took hold of his migrating hand firmly, but not painfully so. He didn't know what he was in for. “I don't know what Derek's told you about me,” Adrianna shared, slowly tightening her fingers around his wrist. “But I can assure you that I am much, _much_ worse.”

Isaac winced as she jerked his hand to the side, nearly snapping his bone right there. His gloating smirk was gone without a trace as his fuzzy brain understood his mistake. Now it was Adrianna's lips that taunted him, breaching the gap between their faces without a trace of trepidation.

“Next time you think about treating me like some kind of shrinking violet,” She warned him. “Remember that I can kill you with one look and right now, there's nowhere else for me to stare.”

The threat hung in the millimeters separating their lips. Adrianna hadn't ever felt this way before—the burning anger was just a cover for what lay underneath—and if she was telling the truth, in all her life of hunting terrifying, deadly creatures that would probably warrant bad dreams and post traumatic stress for a lifetime, nothing compared to the uncertainty of not knowing why Isaac Lahey made her heart race and her palms sweat.

“You know,” Isaac's voice was thick and gravelly. She was suddenly reminded of the way her mother would act when she talked about Derek. Adrianna felt a similar tightness in her chest and heat in her cheeks. “You could have just told me you thought I was hot.” He finished, and now they were both pretending.

Adrianna found it easier to smile and hide back inside her shell of bitterness, now that the boy across from her had done the same. “I don't think your ego needs the extra padding.” She told him, cruelly digging her nails into the flesh of his wrist.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the bell rung, signaling another switch just as enthusiastically as Mr. Harris' voice did. Adrianna cursed Harris for taking so long to ring the bell, but somewhere beneath the layers of anger and ruthlessness, she knew that there hadn't been any more time between switches than there had before. She'd just allowed herself to become sidetracked.

Tilting her head, still staring at the curly-haired boy who had his eyes narrowed at her as blood began to drip from the cuts she'd inflicted upon him, Adrianna felt the urge to take out her sword and rip him to shreds. Instead, she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, using her mother's signature tone of scornful temptation.

“Goodbye, Isaac.”

She didn't notice the way he closed his eyes to hide their amber glow, or how his nails grew into claws. Adrianna was too busy trying to get away before she did something she really shouldn't have; like kissed him— _again._

**#-#-#-#-#**

Smiling proudly, Lydia found Adrianna's flustered, reddened cheeks among the throngs of people switching seats and rose her eyebrows, demanding a full report once they were alone. She'd never thought that the uptight girl would allow herself to so openly flirt with the Lahey boy, but apparently, Lydia shouldn't have judged the proverbial book by it's cover.

Uncoordinated and obviously more than a little overwhelmed, Adrianna simply nodded in response, quickly taking the closest empty chair available to her and breathing deeply to try to compose herself.

Lydia remembered a time when that had been her. It was many years ago now, long before she'd been high school age and learned to control her hormonally induced reactions, but it had still happened.

Before she could dwell too long on her first, sloppy, thirteen-year-old kiss, a body sat down in the vacated seat beside her, where Stiles had just been. As the freckled boy realized that Isaac was sitting smugly beside her, Stiles attempted to return to Lydia's side.

“If you're trying to test my patience, Mr. Stilinski, ” Harris admonished sharply. “I guarantee it'll be a failing grade.”

Stiles withered under the threat, slowly shrinking back into the nearby seat he'd chosen. As Isaac settled in beside her, she focused on adding the appropriate amount of sodium chloride into the mixture. Isaac helped her by dropping in about half a millilitre of water.

It appeared more viscous than Lydia thought it should, but she didn't really worry too much about it. There were plenty of reasons why water could thicken, most of which involved temperature or the accidental addition of other chemicals to the fluid. In the end, it probably wouldn't ruin the experiment, so she didn't comment on it.

She mixed and toyed with the chemical composition, happy that a rock-like solid was forming near the bottom of the beaker. Isaac was silent beside her but she attributed it to the residual effects of whatever Adrianna had said to him, before kissing his cheek.

“Time.” Mr. Harris called loudly, startling her out of her mindless ruminations. “If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal.” He dutifully informed them.

Lydia looked at her own creation; a long, jagged crystal that was opaque and glass-like. “Now for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy—” He derided, judging all the half-formed, or not formed at all, mixtures that most others had attained.

“You can eat it.” He joyously said, no doubt thinking about his students ingesting varying shades of brown sludge.

Examining her crystal with critical eyes, Lydia lifted her brows and picked it up with her thumb and index finger, lowering it towards her mouth. Liquid dripped off the crystal and into her tongue. It fizzled and left an acrid taste in her mouth, but otherwise, the only thing that startled her was Scott, who stood up and shouted her name desperately.

“Lydia!” He called and she turned her head to look at him questioningly, with the crystal still near.

“What?” She asked, oblivious to why he'd freaked out so suddenly.

Arms hanging limp at his sides, Scott shook his head. “Nothing.” He said dispiritedly. Turning back around, Lydia fit the crystal into her mouth and took a hesitant bite out of the crunchy, limpid formation.

It tasted like salt and her nose wrinkled as she forcefully swallowed. No wonder Scott hadn't wanted her to eat it—she'd be brushing her teeth for weeks, trying to rid the taste from her mouth.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He was angry. After all this time, Isaac hadn't wanted to believe that Derek was right, but by the way Adrianna had treated him, although it would be stupid of him not to admit that there had been a spark, it was clear she didn't want anything to do with him.

Maybe it was because he was a werewolf, or because he wasn't popular enough for her—compared to Lydia and all her other friends—but whatever the case, Isaac promised himself that he wouldn't bother trying to talk to her again.

If she wanted it to be that way between them, nothing but hostility and pain shared by the hunter and the prey, then he could do that. But she'd better be ready because he wasn't going down without a fight.

Extending out his arm and digging his claws into the metal faces of the lockers he and Erica were walking past, Isaac tried to focus on the satisfaction he'd feel when he tore apart Lydia Martin's pearly white skin and watched her blood pool all around her. She was just like Adrianna, it was a wonder he hadn't figured it out sooner.

As Erica slammed her hands into the doors to the library, pushing them open wide enough for them both to fit through, disappointment filled Isaac as he realized that Lydia, along with her friends, were no where in sight.

Danny and a boy that Isaac knew to be Matt Daehler, once a semi-friend of his when they'd been kids, were closest to the doors, so Isaac approached them with the intention of finding Lydia and dealing out some sweet revenge.

“Where is she?” He rumbled, scaring both boys somewhat as they look up at him, startled. Isaac was starting to like being on the other side of the spectrum. Now, he was the one making other people afraid. It was a type of power he'd never dreamed of before the bite; it was something he'd never give up—even if it ended up killing him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

She ran through the halls at speeds that would have sent any other person crashing into walls, out of control. Not her. Adrianna had gotten used to running for her life, sad as it was, and she rounded the corners at top speeds in three inch heels and on slippery tile with hardly any effort.

Her book bag slammed against her back with each long, hurried step she took. If she didn't move quickly, then there'd be no chance for her to catch them. There was a dull ache in her chest filled with regret and poisonous hatred for what she'd done to the Lahey boy. It was too late now.

Vaulting herself over the stairs leading out of the school three at a time, Adrianna breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted Lydia, along with Stiles, Allison, and Jackson, marching across the parking lot, all of them determined to get into Stiles' jeep and speed away.

Lydia, Adrianna took some comfort in, could still be saved. _At least I haven't screwed anything up with her,_ her mind bitterly remarked, _at least—not yet._

“Wait!” She called loudly, still plowing her way through various kids in a hurry to get out of school to reach the hurried group. “Lydia!” She shouted as Stiles saw her and hastened his pace. Allison's expression was apologetic as she followed behind them, but she did not force them to stop.

Putting on another burst of speed, Adrianna raced as fast as she could to get to them before they got in the car. Then, she'd have no chance of catching them. Lydia, who apparently had heard Adrianna's voice, was craning her neck around, searching for the source.

Adrianna didn't have time to wave or signal her position because Stiles as already in the driver's seat, encouraging the others to pile in. Allison got in the front seat and Jackson climbed into the back, pulling Lydia—whose frantic gaze had finally locked onto Adrianna in the near distance—inside with him.

“Oh no you don't.” She muttered, hardly having enough breath to speak any louder. Adrianna pumped her arms at her sides as the pavement seemed to blur beneath her feet. The jeep's weak, stuttering engine sounded across the parking lot. It refused to start and some hope made it's way into Adrianna's slowly reviving heart.

Finally, after a few more tries, the jeep roared crankily to life. Adrianna didn't need to be a mechanic to know that Stiles' car was in serious need of repair. Weaving in between cars and annoyed people complaining about being trampled by the running girl, Adrianna rushed towards the car, which had already pulled out of it's parking space, and slammed her body into the hood.

Stiles stared at her as he braked suddenly to stop the car from running her over. It was clear by everyone's widened gazes that they hadn't expected her to care as much as she did. Her fingers twitched where they lay splayed on the hood of the jeep. She hated it when people assumed they knew things about her.

“Open up.” She commanded, not permitting them to move from their position without possibly injuring her, until they did as she asked. Behind the car, all the way over at the school's exit, Adrianna saw Isaac and Erica looking at the jeep with murder in their eyes.

Allison followed her cousin's gaze and her normally pale skin, whitened even more. “Stiles,” She warned nervously. “We have to go.”

Glancing in his rear view mirror, Stiles nodded, also becoming much paler as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. The engine revved as the boy prepared to keep driving, even if it meant hurting the huntress. Adrianna looked into his eyes and saw that he would do it; anything for his Lydia.

And then, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, Lydia spoke up. “Well,” She asked them all, staring at each of them disbelievingly. “Aren't you going to let her in?”

Adrianna smiled, for real this time, as Lydia's friendship cemented itself in her very bones. She had someone she could count on, at least. No matter what happened or whose side she ended up on, Lydia Martin would be always be her friend.

“Uh,” Stiles mumbled, debating whether he should let the huntress that everyone was afraid of, into his car.

“Just get in already.” Jackson spat acidly, scooting over in the back seat closer to the door with Lydia at his side to make more space for her.

Pulling open the handle to the back door, Adrianna slid into the tight space between Lydia and the other door. Stiles immediately sped off and the momentum sent her tumbling further into her chair.

Adrianna felt like she had to tell Lydia, somehow, that she was grateful, so she squeezed the other girl's hand and they shared giddy glances. It seemed that Adrianna hadn't been the only one in need of a true, unconditional friendship.

Staring out at the school far behind them and the werewolves that wanted to hurt her new friend, Adrianna promised herself that she wouldn't let anyone hurt Lydia Martin— _as long as she lived._

**#-#-#-#-#**

“If we're studying at Scott's house,” Lydia questioned smartly—too smartly for the facade she'd been carrying around since before freshman year. “Then where's Scott?”

Jackson held onto her arm tightly so that she followed behind him, up the steps to Scott's house. He didn't miss the way Argent's cousin glared at him. He didn't know when Lydia had made friends with the huntress, but it was apparent that they had some kind of understanding.

“Meeting us here.” Stiles provided, jingling his keys in his hand as he led the way with Allison by his side. “I think.” He muttered a little more quietly, but still audible. Jackson took a breath and convinced himself not to harm the sheriff's son for being clueless and completely in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Thanks.” Allison breathed to him as Adrianna took Jackson's place beside Lydia, both of them walking into the house after Stiles.

“I needed to talk to her anyway.” He supplied as an answer, shrugging with forced insouciance. He didn't much like it when people thanked him for things, particularly Allison. He was used to being disliked, not praised.

Inside Scott's house was cozy, everything painted in warm tones. It was much smaller and less extravagant than Jackson's own home, but at the same time, it felt more comforting to stand in. Less like he was on display in the latest modern home's magazine.

Stiles shut the door behind them, locking the deadbolt and sliding a chained lock into place. _Who even has double locks anymore?_ Jackson asked himself, slightly aghast. It seemed he wasn't the only one who was disturbed by the amount of security in the McCall home. Lydia's brow furrowed and Allison bit her lip, looking like she was holding back a laugh.

“Uh, there's been a few break-ins around the neighbourhood.” Stiles explained, as though it was perfectly normal. To make matters worse, he then grabbed a nearby chair and pushed it beneath the doorknob. “And a murder.” He supplied, cringing. “Yeah, it was bad.”

Rolling his eyes, Jackson sighed before once more holding Lydia's arm. “Lydia, follow me.” He told her, already leading her up the stairs to the second floor for some privacy. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Seriously?” Lydia wondered aloud, voice turning shrill as she neared the brink of serious frustration which would lead to her demanding some answers. “What is going on with everyone?”

Jackson led her down the upstairs hall, all the way to a room decked out in posters and messy enough for him to know that it had to be Scott's. Shutting the door behind them, Jackson took a moment to compose his thoughts. He needed to ask this right, or else, Lydia wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know.

“You okay?” He voiced in concern as he noticed Lydia's troubled expression.

“So—” She replied, nervously threading her hands in front of her.

“So you never gave me back my key.” He explained, feeling his ire rising the longer Lydia was oblivious to his needs.

“What?” Her voice was small and strained, like she was on the verge of crying. Jackson hoped she didn't. He didn't think he had the patience to deal with a hysterical Lydia. “Wh—y—your key?” She manage to utter with some difficulty.

“That's what you wanted to talk about?” Lydia crowed, clearly rankled by his priorities. Jackson rolled his eyes, already having had enough of her high and mighty attitude.

“Why didn't you give it back?” He nearly snarled. Jackson wasn't sure why she was getting under his skin so easily but he needed to get that key, no matter how angry she made him, so he reluctantly dialed his temper back a few notches.

“Are you kidding?” Lydia resentfully questioned, narrowing her eyes in the way she did when she became determined to prove her point. “I'm attacked by some lunatic who bites me. A lunatic who, by the way, still hasn't been caught.” She pointed out angrily. “I spent two days freaked out of my mind, walking around the woods naked. Almost all of my friends are acting like total nutcases and you expect me to be worried about some stupid key?” She finished daringly, placing her hands on her hips.

“So do you have the key or not?” He forced himself to ask, as patiently as he could manage.

Jutting out her hip and raising her chin, Lydia replied with certainty and conviction. “Not.” She told him, but then, he saw a drop of perspiration collect on her brow, just below her hair-line and he listened as her heart-rate sped up.

Indignation flared in his gut as he scoffed, disbelief forcing his eyebrows to lift and his lips to press together. “You just lied to me.” He realized, surprising Lydia as her eyes widened and her lips puckered worriedly.

“Where's my key, Lydia?” He asked, circling her like a hungry predator. “It was you, wasn't it? You edited the tape.” He theorized, oblivious to the fear Lydia felt as he came closer and closer.

“What tape?” She squeaked unsurely, looking all over the room; anywhere but at him.

“The night of the full moon. The recording.” He impatiently snapped, clenching his fists at his sides as his imagination took off with all the things Lydia might have done. “You came into my house—into my room—and you saw what was happening to me, so you took the tape from my camera and you edited out the most important part.” His voice grated and Lydia turned her back on him, looking out the window so she wouldn't have to look at him.

“I don't know why.” He told her truthfully. “Maybe because you wanted to take that from me, my moment, like you take everything.” He nearly shouted, taking a moment to restore his calm as Lydia jumped. “Or maybe you just thought you were protecting me.” His gaze softened on her; _his_ Lydia.

“But it was you, wasn't it?” Jackson demanded to know—to hear her admit it.

She faced him then, tears gathering in her eyes and Jackson knew he'd made a mistake treating her the way he had. He wished he could take it back, but like everyone always said—some things just can't be undone.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Lydia told him, the hurt shining in her eyes and cutting at her throat. “But if you need it so badly,” She stressed, reaching up to her throat and touching one of the chain's of her many necklaces. “Fine.” She yielded, slipping a long, gold chain over her head, the end of which had a familiar gold key dangling loosely.

She dropped it into his hand coldly, hardly touching his skin, as though he disgusted her. Hell, Jackson even disgusted himself sometimes. This was one of those times. Lydia had kept his key, not because she'd had fiendish intentions, but because she'd wanted to have something of his close to her heart.

“I hate you,” She acerbically announced, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I hate you so much.” She hiccuped.

“No,” Jackson denied; refused to believe. “No, you don't.” If Lydia didn't care about him, then no one did.

“I should.” Lydia whimpered, face scrunching with her agony. “I should hate you.”

Jackson reached out to her, guilty for having caused her pain, again, but she turned her head, brushing away his touch. “Don't.” She pleaded, her resolve already weakening.

“Lydia.” He breathed, like it was his own name. Like it was the only name that mattered. His lips met hers—salty and sweet from her lipstick and tears—and Jackson realized that Lydia Martin was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him.

He hadn't seen her true value until he'd lost her. Jackson never wanted to lose her again.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The cellphone felt heavy in her hands. She didn't want to dial the familiar number but she didn't really have a choice. Outside, Derek and his betas were waiting—for what she didn't know—but somehow, they were going to try to find a way to get inside and kill Lydia.

She imagined her best friend with her silky, strawberry blonde hair, deeper than anybody could have guessed personality, and great advice. Allison couldn't even stand to think about a world without Lydia Martin, the girl who'd complimented her jacket on her first day and helped her to fit into yet another school.

The buttons seemed to dial themselves and before Allison could realize it, the phone was pressed to her ear and Scott's voice filtered through, concerned and soft.

“It's me.” She reassured him. Allison was nearly certain that Scott had thought it was her father, at first.

“What's wrong?” He questioned, because even he knew that she would never have called him, risked exposing their ongoing relationship, if there wasn't something wrong.

“You need to get here now.” Allison urged him, peeking out from behind the curtains on both windows encasing the front door. Already, the sun was close to setting. There'd be no telling what would happen when the moon came out. “Right now.” She corrected.

“Okay,” Scott agreed, sounding like he was already running to the car or possibly just planned on running the entire way. Allison couldn't help but smile. That was why she loved Scott McCall. “I'm leaving now.” He told her as she realized what she'd just admitted to herself. “On my way.”

Allison nodded her head, forgetting that Scott couldn't see her, but he'd already hung up before she could properly answer. Her fingers shook as she lowered the phone, snapping it shut.

“You alright?” Adrianna's voice asked her from where she was sitting on the bottom step of the stairwell. “That was Scott, wasn't it?” She added.

“Yeah,” Allison forced herself to reply. “He's coming over.” She told them shakily.

Licking her lips and standing to her feet, Adrianna walked over to her and Stiles, placing a hand over Allison's shoulder. “You don't sound very happy about that.” She observed.

Allison breathed in haltingly, trying to fill lungs that didn't want to expand. The guilty, undecided weight on her chest didn't abate any but at least she could think better. The phone swung in her hand as she debated whether she should call someone else; someone other than Scott.

“Oh, jeez.” Stiles worriedly exclaimed, regarding the situation like one would an atomic bomb. Allison didn't get why he didn't like her cousin, but some things couldn't be helped with Stiles. “What are you doing?” He asked her, staring with wide eyes as her fingers hesitated on the numbers she'd need.

“I think—” Allison tried to voice her thoughts but couldn't, having to start again. “I think I have to call my dad.” She managed to tell them.

“No,” Stiles shook his head, disagreeing. “But if he finds you're here—you and Scott—”

The words left unsaid seemed to wriggle under Allison's skin, like the round, metal pellets she'd learned were in buck-shots a little while ago, during a particularly eventful training session.

“I know.” Allison morosely affirmed. “But what are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay?” She reminded Stiles.

Adrianna had scarcely said a word since looking out the window at the gathered werewolves on the street. “They're here to kill Lydia.” She spoke then, absolutely certain of her conclusion. Allison had been too afraid to say so herself, but she knew it was the truth.

“I got an idea.” Stiles voiced after nearly half an hour of silence. “Just shoot one of 'em.” He triumphantly declared as Allison pressed her lips together with skepticism.

“Are you serious?” She asked, truly wanting to know if the sometimes out of touch boy was messing with her or actually suggesting what she thought he was.

“He better not be.” Adrianna piped from where she sat, legs propped up on a nearby coffee table, lounging across Scott's couch. She was playing with a serrated blade, twirling it in her hands like she wasn't at risk of severing a finger if she lost her grip.

Stiles glared at her as she simply shrugged and widened her eyes in a gesture that screamed a sarcastic, ' _what?'._ Allison felt her lips twitch, wanting to lift in a smile, as Stiles angrily grumbled insults under his breath.

“Anyway,” He loudly continued, garnering a rude-looking hand gesture Allison didn't recognize, from Adrianna. “We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it.” Stiles encouraged. “Or at least give it a shot, right?” He more realistically pitched.

“Okay.” Allison hardly believed she was agreeing, especially to one of Stiles' ideas, but they didn't really have any other options. They either did this, she called her father and never got to see Scott again, or they let Lydia die.

“Look, they don't think we're gonna fight,” Stiles enthusiastically planned, beginning to buzz with hyperactive energy. “So if one of them gets hit, I guarantee they'll take off. So just shoot one of 'em.” He repeated, this time sounding sure of himself.

Parting the curtain one more time, Allison breathed deeply to stave off her nerves as her crossbow began to feel heavier in her hand. “Which one?” She inquired, looking between the wolves but not being able to decide on her own. They all looked stronger and faster than she.

“Uh—Derek.” Stiles took a moment to decide. “Yeah, shoot him, preferably in the head.” He more confidently advised.

“Bad idea.” Adrianna's bored tone held hints of actual concern. Allison mentally decided not to shoot Derek, despite what Stiles had just told her. There must have been a reason why Adrianna didn't think shooting Derek would be a good idea.

The more Allison thought about it, tuning out Stiles' petulant “Why not?” and focusing on what she knew about werewolves, the more she understood that going after the alpha of a pack was unwise.

“If Scott was able to catch an arrow,” Allison recalled wisely. “Derek definitely can.”

“Glad to see someone here has a brain.” Adrianna drawled from nearby. Stiles nearly jumped three feet in the air as he realized she'd snuck up behind him without either of them noticing.

“Would you—just,” Stiles faltered. “Stop doing that.”

Adrianna smiled mischievously, popping what appeared to be a chocolate candy into her mouth. “You're the one who suggested the stupid idea in the first place.” She mumbled around the sweet.

Allison wondered when the girl had ventured further into the house, but figured it was just the same as when she'd managed to creep behind both their back's. Allison was quickly learning, the longer her cousin stayed at her house, that the girl had a huge amount of unsung talents, one of which was stealth.

“Okay, uh,” Stiles finally relaxed enough to say. “Just shoot one of the other three then.”

Furrowing her brow, Allison looked out the window one more time, just to be sure she hadn't been hallucinating. “You mean two.” She corrected as her eyes confirmed what she already knew.

“No, I mean three.” Stiles remarked, flummoxed. “Where the hell is Isaac?” He voiced what all three of them were wondering as they looked out the window.

“This isn't fair.” Adrianna moaned, slapping a hand over her forehead.

Allison hardly had time to think about what she meant before something quick and powerful collided with her chest and sent her sprawling into the door with Stiles not far behind.

Towering over them, Isaac Lahey—fangs extending, eyes glowing yellow and claws as sharp as razor blades—roared triumphantly. That was, until Adrianna punched him in the nose.

If there was one thing to be said about Allison's cousin, it was that she was brave; foolishly so.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Isaac recoiled from the blow as blood spurted from the crack in his bone that Adrianna had been responsible for creating. While the boy was distracted by the pain, Adrianna landed another punch under his right set of ribs that left him wheezing for air.

“Go!” She shouted at Allison and Stiles, who were sitting on the floor, looking stunned at the apparently unharmed huntress. “Run!” She repeated as Isaac growled deep in his throat, already recovered from his initial injury.

Allison stood up quickly, retrieving her crossbow, and helped Stiles to his feet. They fled in separate directions; Allison rushing upstairs to warn Lydia while Stiles scampered into the living room and out of sight, presumably to hide in the kitchen.

Now, all alone with Isaac, she permitted a giddy laugh to slip past her lips. “Well hello again, handsome.” She greeted as Isaac leveled a hateful glare her way. “Fancy seeing you here.” Adrianna ridiculed what he'd said to her before.

Isaac's cheeks tinged red with embarrassment and he roared loudly, showing off his sharp teeth and healed nose. “Come on then,” She goaded, slipping out one of her knives—the one Gerard had given her after she'd stabbed Scott—and slashing at the enraged werewolf.

“Do your worst.” She rumbled as Isaac charged at her, claws outstretched, wanting for blood. Adrianna felt a thrill as he blocked her next swipe with the knife, tossing her body into the wall opposite the stairwell and shaking Scott's family pictures in their frames.

“Now that's more like it.” Adrianna told the boy, evading his clumsy kick with ease but not feeling the need to chide him for it. He was already mad enough as it was, she didn't need him going nuclear on her.

Upstairs, she heard a commotion and another set of footsteps that Adrianna knew didn't belong to anyone that'd been in the house before the wolves had attacked. Judging by the clack and echo of heeled shoes, Adrianna guessed Erica was inside and going after Lydia.

“You can't kill her.” She found herself telling Isaac as the compulsion to go upstairs and help Lydia nearly overcame her. In her moment of confliction, Isaac sprung on her, clamping his hands around her clavicles and digging his claws into the sensitive flesh. The pain wracking down her arms forced her to drop her knife.

“She's innocent,” Adrianna spat through gritted teeth, refusing to scream and admit that she was in agony. “Lydia isn't the Kanima.” She continued, but Isaac wasn't listening. He was blinded by his desire for vengeance—not unlike how Adrianna had been when she'd faced her first kill in Beacon Hills.

“Oh, come on.” She complained as Isaac plowed them both through the unshut door leading into the kitchen. Her back ached from where it had collided with multiple solid, painful objects and partitions. Adrianna had reached the end of her tolerance for such abuse.

Placing both hands over Isaac's own, Adrianna narrowed her gaze and slammed her knee into the boy's abdomen. Howling in pain, as she might have hit him several degrees south of her intended mark, Isaac backed away from her as she attacked him.

Her heeled boot slammed into Isaac's chin, drawing blood from his sealed lips, and she followed with an elbow to the gut and a strong push in the centre of his chest. He collapsed onto the floor, sailing through the air a few feet.

Adrianna was hardly even tired. In fact, there was a vibrating strength filling up her limbs and overtaking her thoughts. Finally, she could release some of her frustration onto someone who wouldn't crumble if she pushed them too hard.

Unfortunately, Isaac wasn't as indestructible as she thought he was. Limping to his feet, the beta's eyes cleared to sky blue as his stamina waned. He shook out his head, as though he was dizzy, before trying to stance himself for more.

More was what he got.

She leapt forward, twirling like a rogue hurricane, and struck the young werewolf at his weakest point; the base of his neck. He cried out in pain, sounding more human than animal, and fell forward onto the chaffed carpet underfoot.

Adrianna didn't have the heart to keep inflicting damage upon the boy, after that. His claws had shrunk back to fingernails, blood-stained and bruised, and his hair was matted with red, viscous fluid she'd been responsible for drawing forth.

Kneeling down, suddenly remorseful, Adrianna's face pinched in guilt as her hand tentatively reached out and lay across the distraught boy's shoulder. He flipped over with speed Adrianna had thought to have fled his body, and pulled a long, glittering blade from within his jacket. A knife she hadn't seen in far too long. _Her_ knife.

Isaac slashed at her with the weapon, uncoordinated but determined to do damage, and the tip caught on Adrianna's cheek, slicing open her flesh. The sight of her blood seemed to disturb Isaac as much as the sight of his had done to her, because he stopped mid-swing and regarded her openly.

“I'm sorry.” Sat on the tips of their tongues, but was left unsaid.

Instead, Adrianna closed off her feelings and snatched the knife away from his idle hands, standing up from where she'd been straddling him, and sheathing the blade in her boot.

“Come on,” She told him, wiping her cheek somberly and turning her back on him, making her way towards the front door. Apparently, while he was averse to hurting her, he was all for hurting Lydia, and so his form changed back to that of a wolf and he snarled at her retreating back.

Her shoulders dipped with the noise and she closed her eyes, trying to convince herself not to kill Isaac Lahey before he could get to Lydia. All she needed to do was incapacitate him. Then, her conscious would be clear and Lydia would be safe.

It was easier said than done.

Isaac darted up the stairs but only made it halfway before Adrianna intercepted him, tackling his waist as the two of them tumbled to the uneven ground. Isaac kicked her in the temple, apparently no longer caring if he drew her blood, and clawed at the stairs for purchase.

Adrianna's hold over the boy's waist slipped, until all she was left holding was his calf. Her fingers wound tightly around Isaac's exposed ankle, desperately trying not to lose any more ground or use deadly force.

A scream bubbled in her throat but she bottled it down. “Why are you doing this?” She shrilly asked, regaining Isaac's attention.

His golden eyes seemed to tell her of the pain Lydia had made him live through. She learned that his mother and brother were dead, and that his father had just recently been murdered by the Kanima. It was beyond personal for him; it was a vendetta.

Adrianna's fingers began to feel cold the longer death whispered in her ear, but she couldn't shut the voices out. Screams of fear and pain, small spaces and bloody nails as imprisonment nearly bent his bones out of shape.

Isaac Lahey had been through hell and back, but that was no excuse for what he wanted to do. She wouldn't let him kill Lydia, just because his alpha _thought_ she was the Kanima. If his eyes turned blue and his hands were stained red, she'd be the one forced to kill him. It would be a never-ending cycle of bloodshed.

Adrianna had to stop it, preferably before it begun.

The coldness intensified in her fingers, spreading up to Isaac's calf as his pulse began to slow beneath her palm. She felt his strength and tenacity drain into her heart, revitalizing her as he neared death.

Pulsating life flowed through her hands in engorged, spidery veins the colour of lilac flowers. The thick webs spread from out of her fingers, up Isaac's leg, all the way to his neck and then his temples. She began to lose control over herself, too mentally vitiated in her reclaimed power to care that she was killing Isaac.

As his face turned pale and his eyes pleaded with her to spare his life, Adrianna felt a sudden jolt of fear and disgust. Her hand sprang loose from around Isaac's leg and his eyes closed sleepily. She had a moment of panic where she feared he'd died, but her fingers found his pulse shortly after and her worries were soothed.

Staring at her hand, and then looking at her reflection in one of the polished photo frames hanging in the stairwell, Adrianna saw that she was healthier than she'd ever been—no trace of the cut Isaac had dealt on her cheek.

Horror crawled up her throat and stayed there long after Scott arrived and threw out the immobile betas. She thought that perhaps, she'd take it with her to her grave, as it showed no signs of abating.

“I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott.” Derek called from the street, hardly caring that most of his pack had been defeated so easily. “You're not an omega, you're already an alpha of your own pack. But you know you can't beat me.” He arrogantly claimed.

Sirens blared in the distance, red and white lights flashing. “I can hold you off until the cops get here.” Scott replied.

“Get them out of here.” Derek sighed as he realized that Scott was right. Adrianna wrapped her arms around her body, feeling an unnatural chill settle into the marrow of her bones.

Overhead, on the McCall's roof, the Kanima screeched violently, scampering off into the night on all fours. Allison stood closer to Scott and Stiles, as Boyd did with Derek, leaving Adrianna standing on her own.

Moments later, Lydia came rushing out of the house. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” She now demanded, putting her foot down.

Adrianna felt her head grow light as Scott whispered, almost in disbelief. “It's Jackson.” She collapsed to the floor before anyone could say more.

Nightmares of a chilly basement and a cruel, uncaring father plagued her mind. She would wake up only a few hours later in the back of Allison's car, aggrievedly realizing that Isaac's upbringing had been painfully similar to her own.

_Only he doesn't kill people with a touch,_ she sullenly thought, staring at her hands with a new kind of distrust. It had been a long time since she'd done that, drained a person of their very essence until they were nothing except for a weathered husk—but not long enough.


	6. Frenemy

The car glided to a stop at the base of Lydia's driveway. Adrianna had yet to look up from her hands, so meek and supposedly gentle, but capable of killing with such ease. Her insides hurt like she'd swallowed fire and her head was pounding fiercely.

“I need you to promise that you won't say anything about what just happened.” Allison told Lydia seriously.

Lydia tossed some of her hair over her shoulder, smiling sweetly, as Adrianna had learned she did when she was annoyed. “I'll promise not to say anything about what just happened if you can tell me _what the hell_ just happened.” She stressed, allowing some of her confusion to shine through.

“It's—” Allison grasped for the right words. “It's kind of complicated.

“Well,” Lydia promptly suggested. “How about you start with why Derek was there? Or where Jackson went, or what is wrong with Erica?” She finished shrilly, glancing back at Adrianna for a moment before refocusing on Allison.

“Oh, do you need a minute to come up with a plausible lie?” Lydia bitterly asked as Allison's lips formed words she knew she couldn't say.

“Part of the reason why I'm asking is because Scott and I aren't supposed to be seeing each other, okay?” Allison found her voice. “So, it's better if you just keep what you know to yourself.”

“Fine.” Lydia agreed, pushing open the door of the car and unbuckling her seatbelt. “I'll keep what I know about you and your boyfriend—which is nothing—to myself.”

“Hey,” Allison reached out, stopping the red head from stomping off angrily. “He's not just my boyfriend. You get that, right?”

Adrianna finally looked up, her eyes bloodshot and her skin deathly pale, to make sure that Allison wouldn't hurt Lydia. “Let me go.” The brilliant strawberry blonde quietly asked.

“Just for once second,” Allison pleaded, following Lydia's gaze back to Adrianna before continuing. “Please, try and remember.”

Pressing her lips together, Lydia closed the door and reluctantly sat back down into the chair. “Remember what?” She resignedly questioned.

“Remember what it feels like.” Allison explained, her eyes lighting up with an undefinable expression stuck somewhere between joy and excitement. “All those times in school when you see him standing down the hall and you cannot breathe until you're with him.” She shared whimsically. “Or those times in class when you—you can't stop looking at the clock because you know that he's standing right out there, waiting for you.”

Shaking her head as Lydia's eyes became glossy, Allison removed her hand from the other girl's bicep. “Don't you remember what that's like?” She wondered. Turning to Adrianna, Allison's eyes beckoned an answer that neither girl could give.

“No.” Lydia tightly responded, refusing to meet Allison's disbelieving stare.

“What do you mean, 'no'?” She asked aloud, looking between the other occupants of the car as though she'd find humour sparkling in their faces before they admitted it was all a joke and that yes, they'd been loved like that before. “You've had boyfriends before.” Allison grasped as she realized that Lydia's answer wasn't going to change.

A beat of silence stretched in the car as Adrianna felt sympathy for Lydia, who, for all her glamour and popularity, had never found someone to love her, completely unconditionally and without prompt, either.

“None like that.” Lydia whispered before hurrying away, into her giant, well-lit house.

Allison's hand clutched the steering wheel tightly as her face betrayed her confusion. Adrianna sat back in her chair, touching an ice cold hand to her burning forehead. She'd felt sick ever since waking up with Isaac's life-force tingling at the tips of her fingers, which made no sense whatsoever. She should have been stronger, as she'd been immediately after her powers had acted up, not weaker.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Allison's voice broke her train of thought. She sounded meek and tired, but also a little bit annoyed. It lit a spark within Adrianna which she easily blew into a small fire that returned warmth to her frigid limbs.

“What would I have said?” She retorted hotly, angrily shoving her hair out of her face as the air conditioning blew it this way and that. “Could I have shared heart-felt stories about the times my mother would tuck me in and read me bedtime stories. How she would fight off the monsters under my bed with my grandfather not far behind?” Adrianna bitterly dreamed, like she had when she was young.

“Maybe I should have told her how happy I was when I learned that my father didn't want anything to do with me; that I was just a debt he had to pay off with my mother!” She nearly shouted, her face turning red and her eyes watering pathetically. Adrianna didn't notice the way Allison's eyes widened in horror and she physically shrunk away from her cousin, shame pumping through her veins.

“But, you know what,” Adrianna continued, on a roll, not caring that she was seriously scaring Allison at this point, as something cold began to drip out of her nose. She thought it might be blood. “The cherry on top would have been when I clued both of you in to why you, Allison, didn't even know that I existed before I got here.”

Adrianna laughed but then felt something lodge in her throat. She coughed into her hand but her anger forced her to keep speaking as soon as she'd recovered. “Do you know what Kate did to me on my twelfth birthday?” She spoke resentfully, filled with a hatred that could never be vanquished, no matter how many times she tried.

Allison reached out, trying to hold onto Adrianna's trembling fists. “Be careful, Adrianna.” She told her, appearing to be genuinely concerned. “Calm down.” She warned.

“Calm down!” Adrianna did yell this time, causing Allison to flinch suddenly. “You want me to calm down, when my mother shipped me off to the other side of the country—all the way to New York—to live at a summer camp, by myself, surrounded by people I didn't know?” She spat venomously.

“No,” She shook her head. “I won't calm down. First, she makes me go through six years of hell, trying to train my how to be a hunter,” Adrianna's lips were running so fast, faster than her mind could keep up, that at that point she hardly knew what she was divulging anymore. “And then, she up and dumps me on Long Island Sound, with a bunch of barbarians!”

Tears fell and ripped into her cheeks, but Adrianna didn't pay them any mind. She'd never shared her story with anyone. For once, she wanted to be the one relying on someone else; not the other way around.

“Oh my god,” She heard Allison gasp as tremors and sobs wracked Adrianna's suddenly child-like form. “Adrianna,” Allison tried to inform, reaching out and shaking her shoulder rather harshly. “Your nose—“ She broke off, sounding terrified. “Your eyes and your ears.” She breathed quietly, and the panic in her cousin's voice was what finally scared her into looking up into the car's rear view mirror.

Black, sludge-like goo was draining out of Adrianna's ever orifice. Her ears felt plugged with the stuff and the tears she'd thought she'd shed, were made of the same tar substance, just as the supposed blood dripping from her nose.

“What's happening to me?” She muttered under her breath, almost too frightened to ask any louder. Her hands blindly fumbled for a napkin, a tissue—anything to wipe away the monstrous substance leaking out of her, but she found none.

“Um, uh, oh my god.” Allison mumbled uselessly, turning fully in her seat and losing control over the use of her rational mind. “Are you dying?” She nearly screeched.

“No,” Adrianna snapped back, but she wasn't sure. Finally deciding to use the only thing available to her, which happened to be the sleeve of her mother's jacket, Adrianna was relieved when the goo stopped running the more she wiped and eventually, the only sign it had even been there, were the black streaks marring her pale face and the leather on her arms.

“Okay,” She told herself. “Okay, I'm good.” She reassured Allison, who was staring at her like she'd grown a third head. “Take me home.” She asked her cousin, allowing part of her terror to shine through as her voice cracked.

Allison shook her head, disagreeing. “No, look at you.” She pointed out the girl's state. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No, Allison.” Adrianna corrected, beginning to become frustrated. “Think about it, Gerard will be able to help me more than anyone at the hospital can.” She reasoned. “They won't even know what to do with me.” She explained, awkwardly patting her cousin's idle hand.

“You're right,” Allison finally agreed, sounding unsure. “I guess.”

She started the car and backed out of Lydia's driveway, then, speeding off in the direction of the home they were both living in. The whole ride, Adrianna's mind was unsettled.

 _What's happening to me?_ She asked herself, staring at the ruined sleeves of her mother's jacket, demoralized. Adrianna promised herself she'd ask Gerard as soon as they arrived but a small, nagging part of her warned her that she couldn't trust him.

As the perfume the very same man had bought her some days ago, just after she'd arrived in Beacon Hills, wafted up into her nose, she forgot all about her reservations.

Gerard was family. If she couldn't trust her own blood, then she couldn't trust anyone.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He watched her as she climbed out of the car and raced past them, vaulting herself over the chain-link fence and slashing the lock clean off with the blade of her broadsword.

Chris felt sorry for the girl—his niece. Pressing his foot onto the gas pedal and following behind the surprisingly fast huntress, he wondered where the dark stains on the sleeves of her jacket came from; the jacket he's seen Gerard giving to her, which had once belonged to Kate; but decided that it wasn't any of his business.

If Gerard was meddling with her, as he almost certain he was, then he was doing it for a reason. Chris had learned that it was best to stay out of his father's way, when he was planning something as big as Chris knew he ought to be.

Beside him, in the passenger seat, Gerard was looking out in the same direction. “Graceful, isn't she?” He asked Chris, admiring as the girl twirled and ducked down low once she'd intercepted the Kanima. “She's even greater than Kate was.” He shared reverently, popping a mixture of pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry.

Chris felt his hackles rising, slightly. Whenever Gerard brought up Kate with such casualty, it irked him. His father had been the reason Kate had lost her mind and burned the Hale family in their sleep. Now, he was going to do the same to her daughter. It wasn't something Chris wanted to watch, but he also knew that he didn't have much choice in the matter.

“What are your plans for her?” He found himself asking Gerard, who looked at him, surprised at the boldness of his query.

“I'm sure you already have some theories.” The older man begun, his voice trembling with excitement, as it did when everything was in place, just the way he wanted it to be. “And you know that, while Adrianna has been extremely useful—collecting information and fighting the battles we're too human to win—I can't keep her with us forever.” He admitted, as though she were a lost puppy he'd decided to adopt for the winter.

Chris pressed his lips together to stop himself from speaking out and disagreeing with his father. “I'm guessing you already have something in mind?” He said instead, rewarded with Gerard's praising hand on his.

“My son, you know me too well.” He fondly stated. Outside, Derek Hale was in sight, intervening in the fight Adrianna was waging with the Kanima—a creature Chris found he still hardly knew anything about. He was certain the same couldn't be said for his father, whose eyes gleamed with strategies and traps only he would benefit from.

“Everything has already been set into motion,” Gerard shared as Adrianna narrowly managed to slide on the cement floor to avoid the severed car-door Derek had picked up as a weapon. “Before we know it, Adrianna will have played her part and, without the half-breed staining our family name, the Argents will be great again.” He passionately expressed, hand clenching into a fist.

Chris gulped thickly, understanding that Gerard meant to kill Adrianna, once she'd finished being of use to him. Gerard abruptly motioned towards the violent battle outside and Chris set the car into drive as Derek was slammed into a nearby pillar and Adrianna's hand wrapped around the creature's throat, blackish veins protruding from her hand onto the snake-like animal's skin. 

“She'll kill it.” Gerard warned, sounding concerned. “Get her away from it!” He commanded his son. “Before she makes an irreparable mistake.”

Jumping out of the still-moving car, aware that his father would have taken the wheel and safely parked nearby, Chris lifted his shiny, marble inset pistol which had been a token from Gerard when he'd graduated as a hunter, and shot three bullets into the Kanima's shoulder, torso, and leg, making certain to avoid hitting Adrianna.

As the creature snarled in pain, breaking free from Adrianna's grasp with some difficulty, Chris noticed that the reptilian animal crawled across the cement pavement, close to the ground, towards him.

Pressing the trigger, Chris grimaced as he understood that he had run out of bullets. Dropping the clip swiftly, he didn't have time to slot in another before the Kanima's tail sailed straight into his chest and catapulted him across the abandoned yard.

He landed with a grunt and was certain that he'd cracked, if not broken, a few ribs. Wheezing slightly, Chris watched as Adrianna charged the beast head on, tackling it's waist and sprawling the both of them across the floor. Chris noticed that her sword was missing from her hands and jumped to the conclusion that she must have lost it while he'd been speaking with Gerard.

“Adrianna,” He called, quickly reloading his pistol and tossing it across the gap between them.

She turned just in time to avoid the creature's clawed hand, purposefully slamming her upper body into the ground to grab hold of the gun. With the Kanima still over top of her, Adrianna rolled onto her back and aimed at the creature's head with both hands wrapped securely around the gun.

Her eyes were glacial and her fingers seemed steady as they lightly squeezed the trigger. The creature, seemingly sensing it's impending doom, skittered away from her at top speed but not before she could re-aim and bury a slug into the Kanima's bleeding shoulder.

It snarled, turning back to look at her as, just behind it, Chris noticed Gerard stepping out of the car. He wanted to yell out a warning, but knew that his father would be safest if the creature didn't notice him. 

Unfortunately, as Gerard spoke to Adrianna in a threatening command, Chris doubted anyone within a mile had failed to see him.

“No!” He shouted caustically, as though she were a child. “Don't kill it!”

Adrianna's lips tightened into a straight line, just like Chris remembered his sister doing when she'd set her mind to doing something, no matter the consequences, before she stood on her feet and aimed at the Kanima.

Before she could shoot, Scott McCall barreled through her and Chris' gun dropped to the floor with a clatter. For a moment, Adrianna lay glaring up at the boy over top of her before she turned to look at Gerard; Chris found his eyes doing the same. 

Twirling it's tail predatorily and baring it's teeth, the Kanima regarded Gerard uneasily, but did not attack. It struck Chris like a physical blow, to realize that his father really did know more about the creature than he'd told him. He hadn't ever been good at preparing himself for the inevitable, no matter how long he'd worked with Gerard.

And then, just as fast as it had appeared, the Kanima shot out of the yard, crawling up the ceiling, disappearing from sight in the gloom of the early morning. It left behind more questions than had been answered, at least, for Chris.

Apparently, not for Adrianna or Gerard, who stared at each other icily, both understanding that neither had a firm hold on the other.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The lights were blinding and the music was deafening as Stiles and Scott made their way towards the bar. His own words rang in his head and even though he'd been kind of joking with Scott, the truth was that he really was only a hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone.

The fact that sarcasm legitimately was his only defense against creatures with claws, paralytic poison, and who knew what else, disturbed him greatly, but not greatly enough for him for him to pass on an opportune moment to have some fun.

“Dude,” Scott called over to him, stuck in the throng of partying men and seemingly only now beginning to realize it. “Everyone in here's a dude. I think we're in a gay club.”

Stiles refused the urge to laugh, as men dressed in furly boas and high heels crowded around him, stroking his neck with feathers and whispering things in his ears he really didn't want to know.

“Man, nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh, Scott?” He sarcastically joked, lips twitching in amusement.

Scott narrowed his eyes and moved past him, slapping his shoulder in annoyance. Grumbling in complaint, Stiles didn't let his friend's touchy mood drag him down, enthusiastically ordering at the bar.

“Two beers.” He told the dark haired barkeeper wearing a sphagetting strap top in neon colours.

“ID's.” He demanded, staring at them disbelievingly as Stiles and Scott pulled out their driver's licenses. “How about two cokes?” The man suggested instead and Stiles nodded along to the rhythm of the music.

“Rum and coke?” Stiles raised his eyebrows as the older man shook his head. “Sure. Coke's fine, actually.” He amended with a casual wave of his hand, seeing that he couldn't persuade the barkeeper differently. “I'm driving anyway.”

A moment later, a waiter placed a beer on the counter next to Scott. “That one's paid for.” He told them as a man further down the bar tipped his head back, winking suggestively.

Smiling, Scott took the beer as Stiles angrily wrapped his hand around his coke. “Oh, shut up.” He snapped at Scott, who couldn't wipe the satisfied smirk off his annoyingly crooked jaw.

“I didn't say anything.” Scott complained.

“Yeah, well, you're face did.” Stiles felt his expression twist grumpily as he sipped from his bitter coke. As he looked out into the crowd, he spotted a familiar face dancing between the mass of bodies. “Hey, I found Danny.” He told Scott, who was looking far up into the ceiling rafters of the club.

“I found Jackson.” He replied as the Kanima, all scaly skin and slithering tail crawled across the surface of the roof above. “Get Danny.” Scott told him, keeping his eyes trained on the creature.

“What're you gonna do?” Stiles asked Scott as he hastily set his coke down on the counter. He glanced down at Scott's hands as long, sharp claws extended and determination set into his friend's face. “Works for me.” He agreed, already pushing his way through the throng of dancing, sweaty people.

“Danny!” He yelled, trying to be heard over the blaring music. “Danny!” Stiles repeated, with hardly any more luck. “Danny.” He muttered angrily, resolving to push through the crowd and shake some sense into the lackadaisical teen. He didn't get far.

About a meter away from Danny, Stiles bumped into someone solid—more solid than all the other bodies he'd been pushing aside—and looking up with a hasty apology clinging to his lips, he only had a second to realize that he'd just plowed into Adrianna Argent and she did not look happy about it.

“Um,” He stuttered, glancing around the dance floor for Scott. “I thought you went home—with Allison.” He managed to blurt out, feeling his palms begin to sweat as the huntress rolled her eyes frustratedly.

Before she could utter a witty comeback or insult, the Kanima dropped down from the ceiling and began to paralyze random party-goers, who fell to the floor, immobile. Adrianna's glare clearly conveyed an 'I'll deal with you later' sentiment, as she turned away from Stiles and lifted the broadsword at her side, ready for attack.

The creature hissed at her, reptilian eyes dilating excitedly as it sliced the back of Danny's neck and crawled over the boy's prone form, focusing on the huntress who Stiles had only just noticed was standing directly between him and the Kanima.

With an almighty battle cry Stiles thought belonged more in a medieval movie like _King Arthur_ , than in some back-alley club, Adrianna charged at the beast that looked nothing like Jackson Whittemore with clearly murderous intent.

Her sword delved into the fleshy scales of the Kanima's shoulder and it screeched inhumanly as greenish blood dribbled out of the immense chunk of flesh that was missing. Stiles felt a pressure at the base of his throat as he noticed speckles of the Kanima's blood were dotted all over Adrianna's face and his.

“Oh god,” He mumbled half-heartedly, feeling immensely lightheaded. “Why do I always have to get myself into situations like these?” He asked himself.

Out of the misty darkness of the back doorways of the club, emerged Derek Hale, fully transformed with claws and fangs and glowing red eyes. Stiles saw that the alpha hesitated as he took note of the huntress already battling the Kanima, before throwing himself into the thick of the fray, slashing and growling at the creature he'd promised to kill not long ago.

Scott, who Stiles had temporarily lost track of, joined the attack with just as much tenacity and the spastic teenager felt the persistent urge to remind his friend that the Kanima was not just the scaly, snake-like beast that they were reducing to blood and gore; it was also a boy their age—a really nasty, self absorbed, arrogant boy, but a boy nonetheless. His name was Jackson and no matter how much Stiles would like to see him dead so that he could have less competition with Lydia and an easier high-school career, Stiles knew that killing him wasn't the right thing to do.

“Scott!” He yelled, trying to be heard over the commotion, but even if Scott had heard him, the way his eyes glowed amber told the scatter-brain that a part of his friend was lost to the thrill of a good fight; Derek was no better.

However, much to Stiles' surprise, the same could not be said of Adrianna, who—despite her blood-thirsty reputation—turned her head slightly to address Stiles' shout. 

“What?” She retorted irritably, effortlessly deflecting the Kanima's clever tail with the flat side of her blade.

Taken aback, Stiles could not do much more than stutter and flounder for his suddenly lost train of thought. Adrianna's piercing, verdant stare reminded him of the urgency of the environment and assisted him in connecting the appropriate synapses and thoughts so that he could he deliver his intended message.

“He's still human,” Stiles reminded her quietly, momentarily forgetting to avoid staring directly at Adrianna as he tried to get his meaning across. “Jackson's under there—somewhere.” He finished, wringing his hands together and gasping, his heart jumping into his throat as the Kanima pounced on the distracted huntress, latching it's claws around her throat.

Stiles couldn't be sure, but in the dim, pulsating light of the club, he thought he saw Adrianna's eyes tear up. Perhaps it was because she'd been thrown into a concrete pillar, or perhaps she'd understood what he'd meant. Perhaps, she was more human than he'd given her credit for, because as she rose and fought off the creature once more, Stiles was convinced that her sword was not as rigid as it had once been.

It was during one of these swings, where her blade barely scraped across the Kanima's scales, where Adrianna's inferiority in the supernatural world Stiles knew of, shone through. The Kanima's tail whipped out behind her, fast as a bullet and Adrianna's reflexes, though incredibly fast, were not fast enough to deflect the blow.

She reached behind her, feeling the back of her neck with tentative fingers where the kanima had sliced open her skin. A frown marred her features and her spare hand, still grasping her sword, fell to her side, limp.

In the distant background, Derek and Scott continued to attempt to disable the Kanima, who now had the upper hand, but Stiles was too interested in what was happening before him to pay much heed to his friend's struggles. He waited for something to happen—for her to fall to the floor paralyzed, to scream, to cry; anything.

Instead, the huntress merely shook her head and continued to attack the scaly beast. The cogs turned and whirled inside Stiles' brain, trying to dismantle the problem he'd just discovered. No one except for Lydia was immune to the Kanima's venom. It had rendered him about as useless as a rubber basketball. Was it possible, despite all the times he'd tried to convince himself that he was just making things up—seeing things—that Allison Argent's cousin was not human?

An angry growl from Derek as the Kanima launched him and Scott across the dance floor brought Stiles back to the present. Adrianna fought off the creature by herself, barely breaking a sweat, and outside, Stiles heard the tell-tale sound of sirens blaring that announced the impending arrival of the police.

The light cut out and the music halted abruptly but Stiles' ears weren't given a rest. People screaming and running for cover all around him came into sharp focus without any other noises to distract him and he felt an intense pounding begin at his temples.

For the most part, Adrianna seemed to be able to tune out the chaos around her, ducking, slicing, kicking and punching at whatever exposed part of the Kanima that she could. In the red and blue reflections from the tall windows behind him, Stiles noticed a viscous, black, plasma-like substance dripping out of Adrianna's nose and onto her lip.

As the huntress clenched her jaw stubbornly against the Kanima's might, grimacing a sneer from the effort and backing into a wall as the creature slowly overpowered her, Stiles saw the fluid staining her teeth. He wondered what it could be and if it was a clue as to why she hadn't been paralyzed by the Kanima's venom.

Deputies piled into the club a moment later and the Kanima quickly retreated further into the bleak, steamy building with Derek hot on it's heels. Scott, who was only just recovering from his up close and personal introduction to a concrete wall, swayed on his feet as he grasped a fistful of Stiles jacket and pulled him towards the back entrance they'd broken in from.

“Come on,” He beckoned him, pulling him behind him a few paces when Stiles kept looking at Adrianna, who had dropped her sword and lifted her hands in surrender according to the Deputies' commands. The black tar shone ominously on her upper lip and her skin seemed to pale a few shades the longer she stayed upright.

It was only when Stiles realized that Scott had already left, that he shook off his ruminations and followed after his friend. He was certain now—Adrianna Argent was not human. Now all he had to do was figure out what she was and, seeing as he had no clue what happened to Lydia, that seemed like an impossible task.

 _For now,_ he reminded himself. _When I get more pieces of the puzzle—then I'll be able to figure it out._

He could only hope that those pieces fell into place soon because, above all else, it was clear that Adrianna was dangerous and by the looks of things, not on _their_ side of the war Gerard was starting.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“I'm fine.” She repeated for the hundredth time to the fussy EMT that was trying to draw blood from her throbbing arm. “Leave me alone, alright?” Adrianna hissed as the needle finally found it's way into her vein with an almighty prick of pain.

“Sorry Ma'am.” The severe looking woman dressed in a blue uniform with a cadaceus emblem stitched onto her left breast apologized insincerely. “I just need to verify that you're not septic.” She added as the small, plastic vial filled with dark coloured blood. It was nearly black.

“Why would I be?” Adrianna responded uncertainly, rubbing the crook of her arm when the woman roughly extracted the needle, capping the blood sample and stowing it in her pocket. “Septic, I mean.” She continued when the woman stared at her quizzically.

Pointing to her own nose, the stern woman extended her chin out towards Adrianna as if she were directing her. “I haven't seen a nose bleed that bad since the fight we had at Beacon High a little over ten years ago.” She commented, stepping up into the ambulance behind them and extracting various tools Adrianna thought resembled torture devices, more than they did medical implements.

Nodding her head triumphantly, the woman passed a mirror over Adrianna's shoulder before exiting the ambulance and walking past to help some of the other medical technicians. People were being loaded onto gurneys and fed oxygen from masks with pumps attached to them. It seemed the Kanima's venom affected every part of the body; even a person's lungs.

She could still feel the slit at the base of her neck throbbing. Stiles had seen it, or rather, not seen her tip over, fully paralyzed and helpless. Adrianna guessed it had something to do with her father's DNA. Tilting the handheld mirror so that she could see her face clearly in the glossy surface, her shoulders sagged as Adrianna took note of the black goo draining from her nose and into her mouth.

It tasted acrid and sweet all at the same time, like charred molasses. She had no idea what it was and there hadn't yet been an opportunity to bring it up to Gerard. She had a feeling that if she did and he knew what it was, he wouldn't tell her. She hadn't exactly been a good little soldier as of late.

Reaching into the pockets of her jacket, she extracted a small plastic bag filled with caramel coloured cubes. Popping one of the brownie-like chunks of ambrosia into her mouth, she sighed contentedly as the taste of burned hotdogs with stale buns infiltrated her taste buds. Kate had been a really bad cook, but when she had bothered to make anything, it had always been special to Adrianna.

Her eyes stung at the thought of her mother, so she closed them. Kate wasn't worth her tears, she knew, but that couldn't stop them from welling beneath her lids. Licking her lips, she breathed in raggedly and then out.

“How are you doing?” Chris' voice asked her, startling her out of her vulnerable state and back into the armor she'd taken off for a moment. She stood up hastily, grabbing hold of her broadsword, which lay on the ambulance deck, and positioning herself so that she was on even ground with her uncle.

“I'm fine.” She defensively stated, easily reaching over her shoulder and slotting the sharp weapon into the scabbard hanging over her shoulder. “The Ka— _creature_ ,” Adrianna quickly corrected herself. “Got away, but other than that, I'd say we've made some progress.”

Nodding his head, Chris' lips pulled together in thought. He'd clearly caught her slip but in the next moment, as he turned around and gestured for her to follow, it was clear that he didn't intend to pursue it any further.

“Gerard wants to talk.” He told her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stiles speaking with his father, the Sheriff, and his jeep was parked nearby with Scott in the front. Her instincts told her Jackson was near but she couldn't tell where he was exactly.

“How exactly did you get to keep the sword?” Chris piped up once they'd gotten closer to the car and away from the mass of injured people and those who were helping them. “And how come they didn't arrest you the moment they saw you?”

Smirking lopsidedly, Adrianna felt her steps lighten as she remembered the real reason why she was a hunter. It wasn't because her mother and grandfather wanted her to be one. It wasn't because she thought werewolves were unnatural abominations to be excised from the world. It wasn't even because she was good at it—which she admittedly was.

It was because of the innocent people— _humans_ —that got hurt or killed by something much more powerful than them; because of all the helpless, inexperienced, completely normal people that didn't know a thing about her world.

She had always wanted to protect them. Unfortunately, she was finding that Gerard's viewpoint was very different than hers. He'd made it clear on their first night in Beacon Hills. He wanted revenge for Kate's death and would stop at nothing to get it. Even Adrianna knew that was wrong, no matter how many times she'd been tempted to do the same.

“People believe what they want to.” She informed Chris, sliding into the backseat of the black sedan. “I just told them what they wanted to hear.”

“And what did they want to hear this time?” Gerard asked, staring at her in the rear-view mirror of the car as Chris settled into the front seat.

“The rumor is drugs,” Adrianna dutifully reported, plucking a tissue from a box in the back and wiping at the black around her nose. “Probably hallucinogens, since witnesses say they saw a demonic monster on the dance floor.” She found herself ending in a laugh, crumpling up the used tissue and stowing it in her pocket.

“Seven paralyzed.” Chris added, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but her.

Gerard's reflection copied his movements, raised eyebrows and a glimmer of mirth in eyes too experienced and conniving to belong to anyone that hadn't learned the truth about the world.

“Now, who would believe something like that?” He jested, smiling at Adrianna the way a master did to it's well-trained dog. “I suppose you'd be responsible for convincing the Sheriff of this turn of events?” He questioned, clearly already certain of the answer.

“Like I said,” Adrianna repeated, clenching her hands to stop her fingers from trembling. “People believe what they want to.”

“You know what I'm having trouble believing?” Chris abruptly voiced, breaking Gerard's meaningful stare away from Adrianna and onto his son with intrigue. “How you just stood there while that thing circled you, and did nothing.” He admitted, meeting eyes with Gerard in an attempt to coax the information from the older man.

“You want to explain that to me?” He finished, sounding tired and indignant all at the same time.

“Intuition.” Gerard excused calmly, leaning back in his seat casually. Chris didn't miss the meaning behind his father's words, nor did Adrianna. She wondered what Gerard was planning if he was only now going to clue Chris into the game they'd been playing for weeks.

“Then you know what it is.” Chris stated, his tone darkening as he seemed to realize what had happened.

“I have a suspicion.” Gerard verified, folding his hands together on his lap. “And if I'm right, it plays by certain rules. Rules that don't bend easily.” He shared.

Matching his father's stance, Chris furrowed his brow in concentration. “Do we need to put a hold on Derek to figure this thing out?” He wondered aloud.

“Not necessarily.” Gerard supplied, careful to give away as little information as possible. It irritated Adrianna to no end that her grandfather was able to get away with such things.

 _What kind of a general doesn't tell his soldiers how he wants them to attack?_ She thought irately, clamping her lips shut to stop herself from voicing her ruminations out loud.

“Tonight's the first time you had a glimpse of him since Kate died,” He asked Chris, his eyes flittering over to Adrianna for a split second. “Am I right?”

“Unfortunately.” Chris grumbled under his breath, his defenses obviously scraped bare at the mentioning of his sister.

Narrowing her gaze, Adrianna felt herself wanting to contest, to tell Gerard that she _had_ seen Derek—multiple times—since her mother's murder, but she held her tongue. Gerard was mad enough with her as it was, she didn't need to add another offense to her list of wrongdoings and failures.

“And the only other tie we have to him is Isaac Lahey?” Gerard continued, pronouncing the name with an underlying emphasis that did not go unnoticed by Adrianna.

“What are you thinking?” She couldn't help but ask. Her heart felt icy and a thousand tons heavier just thinking about what Gerard might want her to do. “If you want me to go after the beta, I have to tell you that there's a high chance I won't be able to get anywhere near him.”

Isaac's name was on the tip of her tongue and his memories were still fresh in her mind. She hadn't killed him before, the first time she'd been ordered to; she doubted she could do so if she was asked again.

“Why not?” Chris queried, leaning forward in his seat to face her. “Did something happen that I'm not aware of?” His tone was prickly and fierce, like the way an animal sounds when it realizes it's been backed into a corner.

“I nearly killed him.” Adrianna confessed and a space in her lungs unclogged, allowing her to breathe more easily. “If he's even conscious tomorrow, I can guarantee that he won't be at school.”

Chris' eyes narrowed and then widened as he blinked extensively, trying to wrap his head around what Adrianna had just told him. She didn't have time to explain any more as Gerard placed a firm hand on the steering wheel and the sound of his flesh meeting with the leather jarred her back to reality.

“What I was thinking,” He brought the conversation back to where it had started, eyes puncturing her submissive frame through the mirror. “Was that if this thing bothers Derek enough to bring him out of his little hole, then we might have an opportunity.” He stated triumphantly, choosing to ignore the way Adrianna's posture curled inwards.

“What did I teach you is the best way to eliminate a threat?” He addressed her, sounding surprisingly gentle. It set Adrianna's teeth on edge. He only ever sounded like that when he wanted something.

Her throat constricted and her tongue felt too heavy and clumsy to form the words she needed to. Chris said them for her.

“Get someone else to do it for you.”

Adrianna comprehended then that she had always been that someone to Gerard. His weapon and his means to an end. She knew what he did to the people he used in such a way. Their ends were never pretty.

A voice in her head whispered that she was safe with her family; that she could trust Gerard. A part of her disagreed in an even quieter breath; _I wonder if my end will be the same?_

**#-#-#-#-#**

He woke up with a scream lodged at the back of his throat and Erica's concerned brown eyes staring at him. Scuttling backwards from where he was lying on a pile of dirty rugs someone had thrown away decades ago, Isaac tried to collect his thoughts. He felt sweat dampening his hairline and dripping down his face. There was an ice in his veins that he'd never felt before and most certainly didn't want to feel again.

“What happened?” He asked the blonde beta still standing over him, along with Boyd, who'd joined her side upon seeing that Isaac was awake. “How long was I out?” He wondered, glancing around the tall warehouse and abandoned subway car and noticing that daylight was streaming in through the cloudy windows.

“About eight hours.” Boyd's gravelly voice responded. He was dressed for school in a t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket—so was Erica.

“I've got to get up,” Isaac mumbled to himself, pushing off the floor to stand but finding that his vision swam before him and his strength waned enough to send him back down to the ground in a disgruntled heap of limbs. “When does school start?” He asked the two werewolves looking at him sympathetically.

Hesitating for a moment too long, Erica brushed some hair away from her face and had trouble meeting Isaac's gaze as she replied with an air of forced causality; “School's in twenty minutes. Boyd and I were going to walk, since Derek hasn't come back yet.”

“Twenty minutes,” He pondered, dusting his hands off from the soot they'd collected off the cement ground. “I can come with you guys.” Testing his feet carefully with part of his weight, he was relieved when his legs held. Using the pillar behind him to support himself, Isaac stood, ignoring the sinking pit in his gut and the sudden chill in his bones.

“Where is Derek, if he's not here?” He questioned, blinking away the spots from his eyes so that he could see Boyd and Erica more clearly. Neither of them looked very comfortable; like they were trying to figure out how to tell him something they knew he wouldn't like.

“He's hunting the Kanima.” Erica supplied, her body leaning ever so slightly closer to Boyd's. “Derek told us he'd explain more in the morning but he hasn't showed up yet.”

There was a note of disappointment in Erica's tone that Isaac knew he and Boyd both felt. It was beginning to be a pattern for their Alpha to forget about his promises. He hadn't even begun to properly train them how to control their shifting or protect themselves from a hunter.

“We should go.” Boyd voiced after a long moment of strung-out silence. The tension was palpable as Erica nodded her head and slung her book bag higher onto her shoulder, avoiding Isaac's curious stare.

“What about me?” He said, slightly indignant that his pack-mates would so easily leave him behind when he was practically defenseless. “I'm not gonna stay here the whole day.” He informed them seriously, parting from the pillar to advance on the betas.

His joints felt loose somehow and his balance fled in a heartbeat as he felt his body leaning towards the floor. Boyd and Erica's fast reflexes saved his face from smashing into the floor and as the two lowered him back onto the pile of dusty blankets, looking apologetic, Isaac finally understood what had happened to him.

“She tried to kill me.” He nearly growled, so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the exchanged glances between Boyd and Erica that were infused with concern and distrust. “All that time I spent insisting that she was good—that she was on _our_ side—and what do I get for it? I get the life sucked out of me.” He moped, ruffling his damp hair irritably.

“That's what she did, isn't it?” He asked his friends. Isaac cringed; even to his own ears he sounded like a heartbroken fool. He hated to admit that Derek had been right all along, but he distantly remembered that he already had. There was no point denying it.

“We can send a message for her,” Erica told him, like she was asking permission to filet the huntress alive. “She'll never hurt any of us again once I'm through with her.” She promised.

Isaac's heart seemed to tap dance in his chest and the coldness infecting his body vanished in an instant, replaced by a fiery heat that could only belong to anger. “Leave her alone.” He warned, focusing solely on the brown of Erica's irises and the way her pupils dilated as she understood what he meant.

“You're not seriously still protecting her?” Erica's disbelief made her voice turn a shade darker and more ominous. Boyd's hand on her shoulder was enough to stop her from leaning any further towards Isaac. It was as thought she'd wanted to dig her claws into his shoulders and shake some sense into him.

“I'm not.” Isaac replied succinctly, scooting higher up on the scrap material beneath him so that he wasn't at such a height disadvantage to the others. “But I don't want you hurting her either. She's human—more vulnerable than any of us. You might end up killing her.” He excused, trying to explain himself through facts but finding that he wasn't very convincing.

“Yeah right.” Erica spat hotly, turning on her heel and walking a few paces away to cool her head. Boyd watched her as she paced in front of the subway car for a moment before addressing Isaac.

Sitting down beside him on the musty blankets, Boyd's large frame was several times wider than Isaac's but only about the same height, if not slightly shorter. Isaac had gotten his tall stature from his mother's side of the family; it was one of the reasons he hadn't grown to hate it.

“She's not a good person, Isaac.” Boyd informed him kindly, trying to be as gentle as he could, although Isaac still felt personally insulted by the accusation. “She's killed who knows how many werewolves; I can guarantee that some of them were innocent.”

“I've seen a different side to her,” Isaac refuted, shaking his head as Boyd's words bounced around inside him. “She's not always ruthless. Sometimes, she's merciful. Sometimes, she's vulnerable.” He shared, his voice lightening to a whisper as he noticed Erica staring at him as though she was eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Because she spared you and Derek at the Sheriff's station?” Boyd asked patiently. Isaac was glad that the other boy wasn't as close-minded as Erica was about the huntress. 

“Not just that.” He sighed heavily, wondering when he'd become so involved with the Argent. “She's done other things after that too. The girl that cuts down anything supernatural in her path; that's not her.” He explained, staring at his hands remembering the way her hair smelt and how her breath caught the closer he got.

“How do you know for sure?” The other boy said, sounding like he was trying but failing to believe him. “Maybe it's the other way around.” Boyd broached cautiously, placing a supportive hand on Isaac's sagging shoulders.

“I just know.” He told the boy that had become like a brother to him. “The way she smiles and insults everyone—I know that's not the real Adrianna. Last night, at McCall's house, she didn't want to hurt me.” Isaac recalled hopefully. “She was protecting Lydia. I don't think she even knew what she was doing until it was too late.”

“Man,” Boyd quietly spoke, a note of caution in his voice. “Even if you're right, that doesn't change what she's done. Willingly or not, she's an Argent and the Argent's are our enemies. Derek's going to want you to fight her again; you've got to be ready.” He prompted Isaac.

“I know.” Isaac agreed, clenching his shaking fists and idly wondering why he felt as though all his worst secrets had been stolen away.

“Her family is going to ask the same thing of her.” Boyd wisely reminded him, standing up to join an impatient Erica. “Maybe you should ask yourself how certain you are of your theory about her.” He said before walking out of the warehouse, leaving Isaac alone.

“I know it's not her,” He told himself, studying his fingernails to keep himself busy. “Because I had to do the same thing.”

And somehow, admitting that to the empty subway car and the shallow walls around him felt like a pressing weight off his shoulders. He'd had to lie all the time when he was living with his father.

Isaac was reminded of the old saying he always heard his dad using; 'It takes one to know one.'

 _It certainly does,_ he concurred as he flexed his fingers and extended his claws. When Adrianna came for him next, he'd be ready to fight back, no matter what he knew to be true. After all, two could play at the game she'd chosen.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“So, who did you say you were studying with tonight?” Gerard asked his granddaughter, Allison, as she sat across from him in the Principal's office— _his_ office.

“Just Lydia.” The teenager replied with forced ease. “We're prepping for our world history midterm.” She explained helpfully. The young were always so eager to prove themselves; Allison was no different in that aspect than she was to her cousin, Adrianna.

“History was one of my favourites, especially military history.” Gerard shared, smiling as Allison's expression lightened and her shoulders pulled back at attention. “Have you ever heard of the phrase, 'know they enemy'?” He queried.

“It's from the art of war by Sun Tzu.” Allison readily supplied in a clipped, professional tone that clearly said she was trying to impress him.

“Very good.” Gerard praised, hardly managing to contain his grin. “Do you know what it means?” He lent himself to her rapidly growing trust in him.

“In order to win a battle,” Allison started, rolling the phrase about in her mind as Gerard steepled his fingers, hoping that she wouldn't be a complete waste of his time. “One must know everything they can about their enemy.”

“Right again.” He encouraged, leaning back in his chair to give off an air of ease. “Your father and I happen to be having that very problem. We've got an enemy about which we know next to nothing.” Gerard confided. “It's killed one of our own, among others.”

“I've heard.” She replied shakily. Her folded hands fidgeted in her lap.

“Did you hear that Jackson Whittemore didn't show to school today?” Gerard chose to broach, raising his eyebrows when Allison's face scrunched in confusion a second too late to be genuine surprise.

Shaking her head, Allison avoided eye contact, swallowing thickly before asking in a strained voice, “He didn't?”

“His parents called and so did the police.” He assured her, preparing to use another method of persuasion that he'd found rather useful over the years if Allison continued to attempt to fool him. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” He asked after a moment of tense silence.

“Well,” Gerard continued, standing up from his chair and stalking around the seated girl. “Let me tell you what I know. I know that a teenager's first instinct is to protect their friends.” He told her.

She kept her eyes on him until he stood behind her and Gerard knew that he had chosen correctly. Though she was weak, easily manipulated, hormonally driven and no where near capable of the level of tactical and physical defense Adrianna was, Allison was smart and determined; she'd make a very good huntress once he was done with her.

“And I believe my granddaughter would always want to protect her friends, even if it meant lying.” Gerard parted a section of Allison's long, curled hair and placed his middle and index finger against the girl's stuttering pulse. “So, I want to ask one more question, and this time, with a small advantage.”

“I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to get a sense of your pulse. Think of it as a game.” He informed her, closing his eyes to count the rhythmic beating of her heart. “All you have to do is tell the truth.”

The threat hung in the air like a cloud of dense fog. By the way Allison's posture stiffened, Gerard knew that his granddaughter was beginning to grasp the depth of what he was doing—if only just slightly. He'd have to work fast.

“Do you know anything about Jackson being missing?” He questioned, adjusting his fingers over her neck so that he could restrain her if she became testy.

“No.” Allison answered quickly with a slight tremor in her voice.

Humming thoughtfully, Gerard asked his next question. “Is he in trouble?” He demanded.

“I—” Allison begun, her heartrate increasing with her panic. “I—I—I don't know.” She stuttered, licking her lips before trying again. “I don't know.” She was finally able to respond.

Still, her pulse remained even and normal. Gerard endeavoured to push his luck. “Does this have anything to do with Scott?” He carefully phrased with great neutrality, rewarded with a sudden spike in Allison's heartrate.

“No.” She immediately said before biting back her words. “I mean, I don't—I don't know.” Allison corrected, her breathing speeding up with her fear.

“Your pulse jumped.” He almost taunted, feeling far too pleased with himself to bother with his kindly, well-mannered disguise. He was finally getting somewhere.

“It's because you're scaring me.” Allison told him, roughly pulling his hand away from her neck before standing some feet away from him, idly rubbing at her traitorous pulse.

“Oh, I'm sorry sweetheart.” He apologized, layering on the saccharine lies as thickly as he dared was believable. “That was definitely going way too far.”

For a moment, she remained distant and frightened but then, she ducked her head in submission and pressed her lips together. “No kidding.” She agreed, but deep down, Gerard knew she'd already forgiven him—passed off his brutality as a mistake when it had been anything but.

“It wasn't right for me to use tactics like that.” He added, refraining from grimacing as the words burned his throat. “I'm sorry. You can go back to class.” He instructed, waving her off towards the open doorway. 

“Go ahead.” He prompted again when Allison looked back uncertainly, almost asking for permission. Without any further encouragement, the girl disappeared into the halls of the school. Moments later, another very similar girl took her place in the office.

“What are you doing with her?” Adrianna asked him, leaning against the door frame and carefully tucking away a plastic bag filled with cake-like cubes— after swallowing the remnants of one—into her pocket. Gerard knew what they were but pretended not to have noticed them.

Cocking his head to the side, Gerard sat back down at his desk and began sorting through an overdue stack of papers. “What am I doing with whom?” He half-heartedly toyed with her.

Sighing heavily, Adrianna walked further into the office, taking the seat Allison had just vacated with swift movements that came from a lifetime of training. “What are you doing with Allison?” She spelled out for him with less impatience than he'd come to expect.

“She's a useful source of information.” He settled on telling her after coming to the conclusion that a half-truth was just as good as a lie.

Narrowing her eyes on him, Adrianna leaned forwards in her seat and raised an incredulous brow. “A useful source of information?” She harshly retorted, lifting her lips in an angry sneer. “Old man, Allison doesn't know half the things I do.”

“Be careful how you treat your elders, Adrianna.” Gerard snapped, never one to tolerate disrespect, even from his own family. “If I were you, I'd start considering my place in the ranks.” He advised her, also pushing himself further off the chair so that he was more imposing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Adrianna mocked, pressing a hand to her temple as though in pain. “I know what I am to you—always have. Nothing more than a foot-soldier, a weapon. I haven't forgotten.” She bitterly explained.

“Good.” Gerard replied, the ire within him fading away as Adrianna's constant rebelling spirit quelled for at least a moment. “So then you know that, as your grandfather and your superior in every way, I must ask you to tell me what Allison and you have gotten up to these past few days.”

Snorting derisively, Gerard's lips curled into an expression of satisfaction thinly guised by confusion as black blood seeped from Adrianna's left nostril. “You're bleeding.” He stated coldly.

Furrowing her brows, Adrianna reached into her pocket and retrieved a thoroughly stained handkerchief, more of the tar-like substance marring the otherwise pristine white cloth, and removed the blood from under her nose. 

“Do you know who the Kanima is?” Gerard continued his line of questions as though nothing had happened. “Because if you do, I can assure you, I'll get the answer out of you—one way or another.”

Staring at the bloodied handkerchief crumpled in her open palm, Adrianna smiled self-deprecatingly. “Yes.” She answered after a long while. “I do know who the Kanima is.”

“Well,” Gerard prodded, patience running thin with the the girl's impertinent delays. “Who is it?” He demanded. Adrianna laughed, coughing painfully into the cloth and Gerard unwillingly waited for her to recover from her fit in order to reply.

“And why should I tell you?” Her gravelly voice queried in a tone Kate had often used when she had an unfair advantage.

Steepling his fingers together and breathing in deeply to keep himself from punishing Adrianna, Gerard smugly sat back in his chair and regarded his clever granddaughter. She wasn't clever enough to outwit him; at least, not yet. He'd make sure she never could.

“Because, my dear Adrianna,” He begun, withdrawing his pill box from his coat and carefully placing it on the desk. “I'm dying.” He admitted. “And the Kanima is the key to my survival.”

“No.” Adrianna denied, shaking her head. “You're lying.” She accused, tears blurring her eyes as she pointed his way. “You're not dying, I would have felt it.”

“Not in your condition.” Gerard reminded her, staring at her handkerchief for added emphasis of his point. “You might be dying yourself and you wouldn't even know.” He theorized grimly.

Standing from her seat, Adrianna turned her back to Gerard as she approached the doorway to his office. She stopped at the frame, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Alright,” She agreed, hands fisted at her sides. “But I need one day—twenty four hours—to try to deal with it myself.” Adrianna stipulated.

A smirk slid across Gerard' features as he nodded his head. “Very well, you have one day.” He told her, extracting his daily cocktail of pills and swallowing the tablets dry.

The girl moved to leave but Gerard had one last thing to say; a promise to make her. “And Adrianna,” He called to her rigid back. “If you're thinking of betraying or double-crossing me in any way, I will not hesitate to kill you—even if it means my own death.”

Adrianna said nothing to affirm that she'd heard him but Gerard was satisfied by the way her shoulders straightened and her head lifted that she understood his threat. She had been acquainted with him for long enough to know that he was always ten steps ahead.

“Check.” He muttered under his breath, laughing mirthlessly at how horribly simple it had all been.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Narrowing his gaze disbelievingly, Jackson shook his head as though to physically rid himself of the mental image Stiles had just painted for him. “Scales?” He found himself asking, despite wanting to put the whole thing behind him. “Like a fish?”

“No,” The other boy replied promptly, leaning back against the side of the stainless steel wall. “More like a reptile. Um, and, uh,” He fumbled for words as Jackson's eyebrows rose incrementally with each failed attempt. “Your claws have this liquid that paralyzes people, and you have a tail.”

“I have a tail?” He wondered, finding his stare unwillingly drifting to his side as though to verify that there was nothing out of the ordinary he hadn't noticed before.

“Yeah,” Stiles affirmed sarcastically, or perhaps he was just getting frustrated. It was hard to tell. “You have a tail.”

“Mm.” Jackson hummed thoughtfully. “Does it do anything?” He played along to the other teen's ludicrous story. A very small part of him was genuinely curious where Stiles was getting all this crap from. He couldn't have made all of it up; the kid wasn't that ingenuitive.

“No, not that I know of.” He replied factually, rubbing the back of his buzz-cut brain unthinkingly. The fact that Stiles was being so casual and nonchalant about Jackson's kidnapping and imprisonment in a large, steel van ticked him off to no end.

Reaching out his cuffed hands, Jackson outstretched his fingers, curling the tips as far as the chains holding him to the bench would allow, and imagined dealing out bodily harm to Stiles Stilinski. “Can I use it to strangle you?” He roared angrily, jerking the chains once more for good measure and causing the boy to jump, frightened.

Taking a moment to recover, Stiles scooted back in his seat as far as he could before speaking. “Yeah, you still don't believe me.” He lamented. “Alright. The night of the semi-final game, what did you do right after?” Stiles questioned, raising his eyebrows as Jackson searched his memory.

“I went home.” Jackson answered a moment later, nodding his head as he remembered setting up the camera he'd loaned from Matt and going to bed.

“Are you sure about that?” The spastic dolt insisted. Jackson tried to cross his arms but found that the length of chain was too short, so he settled for allowing them to dangle from their perch on his legs.

“Yes, you idiot.” He spat caustically, feeling a strange burning sensation in his chest and scratching at the skin. “What the hell else would I do?” Jackson cursed, ignoring the other boy's irritated glare in favour of continuing to try to alleviate his itch.

“You attacked me and Derek at the school and you trapped us in the pool.” Stiles began to rant. “You also killed a mechanic—right in front of me, by the way. That was lovely.” He sarcastically complained. “And one of the Argent's hunters. Oh, and last night,” He added, voice rising in pitch as his anger simmered. “You tried to kill Danny.”

“Why would I want to kill my best friend?” Jackson retorted, shaking his head as even the notion sounded foreign to him and just plain _wrong._

“Well,” Stiles breathed, regaining control over his temper enough to be able to focus on Jackson and not whatever was running through his mind. “That's what Scott's out trying to figure out right now.” He explained.

Face pinching suddenly, Stiles interrupted Jackson's condescending hum with a finger pointed straight in his direction. “What're those?” He tactlessly demanded.

“Well, maybe, what he should be trying to figure out is how he's going to pay for a lawyer, when I prosecute your asses all the way to jail!” Jackson yelled, ignoring the other boy's question.

“No, seriously.” Stiles argued. “What _are_ those?”

“What is what?” Jackson sighed, reaching the end of his tolerance for the boy's short attention span. “What, these?” He gestured to his chest where his fingernails had drawn angry red lines in his pale flesh. “I had an itch.” He excused, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

Shaking his head, Stiles pushed himself forward, nearly falling off the bench in the process, and swatted away Jackson's hands. “No,” He pointedly disagreed, shoving his finger inches away from Jackson's lower shoulder. “These.”

Looking down at what the teen was staring at intently, Jackson's brow furrowed as he noticed long, thin lines marring his skin; almost like scars—five on each side of his chest, like human sized claw marks.

“What the hell?” He wondered, suddenly afraid. “I didn't even notice those.” Jackson recalled, tracing his hands over the broken and repaired skin that bubbled and stretched unnaturally.

“When do you think they got there?” Stiles quietly asked, sitting back as his eyes flitted back and forth around the inside of the van.

“How am I supposed to know?” Jackson retorted, nearly snarling. “I just told you that I didn't even know I had them.”

“Alright,” Stiles placated, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. “Well, tell me this. On the night of the first full moon, what happened?”

“Nothing.” He found himself sharing, despairingly hanging his head. “Nothing happened.”

Despite the fact that Stiles ceased pressing his point, Jackson continued to think about the two nights he'd mentioned. The following morning after the semi-finals, he'd remembered the very same burning itch taking hold.

 _Is it possible that Stiles is telling the truth?_ He bid himself to answer, but found that he couldn't—or rather, didn't want to.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Allison's locker door slammed shut with a bang and physically jolted Scott's turned back. He still hadn't gotten used to hearing everything in such clarity; it often gave him a headache if he focused on it too much.

“Adrianna, I don't have time to explain what happened,” He heard Allison remark to her cousin, who was impatiently tapping her heeled boot, waiting for Allison to finish collecting her books. “I have to go.” She muttered lowly, brushing past the other girl and beginning to march down the school halls, towards Scott's position.

Hastily stuffing his head inside his own locker, Scott listened as the two girls past him. “Have to go where?” Adrianna demanded, her pace easily matching Allison's brisk one. “I thought you were going to study with me and Lydia tonight.” She wondered.

Sighing deeply, Scott heard Allison's heartrate speed up and a sharp, anxiety inducing smell wafted into his nostrils and made his eyes water. “I will, but first, I have to take care of something.” Allison lied. “You and Lydia can start without me, I won't be long.”

Jackets and books shuffled as Scott peaked his head out to see Adrianna leading Allison to the side of the hallway, out of everyone elses' way. “Does this have anything to do with Jackson not showing up to school?” The huntress asked Allison, her own rhythmic heart unaffected by her cousin's obvious distress.

“What?” Allison shrilly denied. “No, I just have to meet up with Stiles for a moment. He and I were assigned a project for Chemistry.” She floundered for a moment and Scott closed his eyes, clenching his hands around the edges of his locker to refrain from walking over and protecting his girlfriend.

“Uh-huh,” Adrianna dubiously agreed, adjusting her grip on a particularly heavy-looking textbook. “And I suppose that would be the same class I just sat in for an hour, without any mentioning of such a project.”

Scott licked his lips as he experienced Allison's discomfort at having been called out on a lie. He could barely see her from where he was standing so, collecting his backpack with miscellaneous books stuffed inside, he crept to the other side of the hall and stood behind the curve of the wall, a feet away from where the two Argents were talking.

“I'm sorry, okay.” Allison apologized, running a hand through her hair nervously. “But I can't tell you where I'm going. It's better if you stay out of this.” She added, lips pulled back in an uncomfortable frown.

“Honey, I'm already six feet deep in this.” Adrianna reminded, a touch of offense clinging to her voice. “In case you've forgotten, I've been privy to the supernatural all my life—you've known about it for how long? Less than a year?” She seemed to mock.

“I can take care of myself.” Allison argued in a small, uncertain voice. Scott had never heard her sound so young and inexperienced. She was always the strong one with a good plan—now it seemed that all along, she'd been just as lost and overwhelmed as all of them.

“Allison,” The huntress changed her tone to one of sympathy and comfort. Scott had heard it used around injured our scared animals. He supposed that was what Allison was at that moment. “You might fool Scott, Stiles, and even uncle Chris with those words, but you won't fool me.”

Adrianna wrapped an arm around her cousin and the duo continued to walk in the direction of the school's exit. Scott slammed his back into the lockers to try to make himself inconspicuous as they passed. He didn't need either of them knowing he'd overheard their conversation.

“I've been in your shoes.” Adrianna confided to Allison. “It may have been a while ago, but I can still remember the fear and the crushing weight of everyone's expectations threatening to shatter my will.”

Scott saw Allison nod her head and heard her hold back a sniffle. He wondered whether she was going to cry. He didn't think he'd ever seen Allison crying; it wasn't something he'd thought was impossible.

“Yeah,” Allison laughed airily, suddenly more composed. “I didn't think anyone could understand.”

“Believe me, I know.” The other girl replied, squeezing Allison's shoulder before separating from her to sling her book bag over her shoulder. Scott saw a glint of metal that looked like a dagger tucked under her belt as her leather jacket rode up. “Now tell me what's going on so I can help.” She pressed.

Allison's shoulders visibly stiffened at the question. Scott silently urged her not to tell her cousin anything. His stomach still ached from the knife she'd shoved through him. Scott knew Adrianna wasn't trustworthy but he could only hope that Allison realized that too.

“Um,” She debated, pushing open the doors leading out of the school. “I'm sorry but I can't.” Allison apologized, shrugging impishly as the other girl's expression turned sour and confused.

“Why not?” Adrianna wondered, stepping out of the school along with Allison. Their voices became muffled as their distance from Scott increased and the young werewolf immediately broke into a sprint to try to catch the end of their conversation.

“Scott and Stiles don't trust you,” He could barely discern Allison saying as he pushed past random students and barreled into the wall directly beside the door, silencing his breathing to make out her next words.

“ _I_ don't trust you. I'm sorry but I have to figure this out on my own.” She informed her cousin, who Scott could feel becoming desperate and panicky. “You understand that, don't you?” Allison asked her.

Looking through the small window inset into one of the large, metal doors, Scott felt anger fester inside him as Adrianna shook her head and grabbed hold of Allison's wrist tightly.

“I need to know where you're keeping Jackson.” She urged Allison to tell her. “You're going to need my help if you want him to live past tomorrow.”

“Let go.” Allison tried to shake out of her cousin's stronger grip, to no avail. People began to stare at them but Scott knew they wouldn't be able to help. “Adrianna, you're hurting me!” Allison finally shrieked as strange, purplish veins crawled across Adrianna's fingers onto Allison's hand.

Slamming the door open effortlessly and barely noticing the damaged and cracked bricks behind the open door, Scott stood at the top of the stairs with his feet spread wide and his claws extended by his sides. His narrowed gaze was directed at Adrianna, who, along with Allison, turned to see what the commotion had been.

“She said, _let go_.” He reminded her in a deep voice full of unspoken threats. Even though they were an entire flight of stairs apart, he was certain that Adrianna heard him as she frowned, darting her stare over to Allison's frightened expression and the bruised hand within her grasp before standing back and releasing Allison, seemingly startled by what she'd done.

“I—I didn't mean,” She struggled to speak, pressing her lips together firmly at the look of distrust sparkling in Allison's misty eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.” Adrianna amended, sparing one last glance to the top of the stairs before rushing off.

Scott stood still for a moment as the girl navigated the crowded parking lot before climbing into Lydia's car. Then, with hardly another second wasted, he barreled down the stairs two at a time until he came to Allison's side.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, placing a tentative hand over her shoulder. “She didn't cut you, did she?” He pressed as he noticed her cradling her hand to her chest.

“No,” Allison hesitantly replied, shaking out her digits as though they'd gone numb from loss of circulation. “I'm fine.”

Watching as the blue Toyota pulled out of the school, Scott felt a flash of confusion as he wondered how Lydia could get along so well with the bipolar huntress.

“You're cousin's messed up.” He told Allison, who had her knuckles pressed to her lips in thought.

“Yeah,” She replied breathlessly, supporting his statement as her eyes followed the camera's swiveling this way and that on the outside of the school building. “And so is everyone else in my family.”

Scott couldn't have agreed more.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lydia asked from where she was seated delicately on the edge of Adrianna's unmade bed. “Because I think, if it had been me Allison was lying to, I'd want to talk about it.” The strawberry blonde intelligently suggested, raising her brows as Adrianna turned to face her.

“Not that Allison's ever lied to me,” She ironically stated, flipping her hair over her shoulder haughtily. “But you know what I mean.”

Sitting down beside her friend on a crumpled mass of sheets, Adrianna breathed in the smell of her room and tried to dispel her cousin's memories from the forefront of her mind. Her powers shouldn't have acted up; she didn't want to kill her cousin, she wanted to save her.

“What do you want to know, Lydia?” Adrianna asked, sliding a hand down her face to try to wipe away the film of guilt that had settled over her pores. “I can only tell you so much—even I don't know the whole story.”

“I thought we were talking about you?” Lydia chirped, one brow raised curiously.

Slumping backwards onto her bed, Adrianna stared up at the plastered ceiling. “No, Lydia,” She reminded the girl. “We were definitely talking about you but you were pretending to talk about me so that I might actually tell you something.” She shared, feeling a stubborn smile breaking out across her face as Lydia batted her eyelashes before tilting her head to the side in agreement.

“You're smarter than everyone gives you credit for.” Lydia observed, lifting herself off of the mattress to wander around Adrianna's sparsely decorated room. Her fingers wandered over picture frames she'd forgotten were even there, taking note of the dust that coated each one.

Biting her lip uncertainly, Adrianna threaded her fingers together and laid them over her stomach. “So are you.” She replied quietly. “Don't think I haven't noticed all the times you have to pretend not to know something.”

Laughing in a high pitch, Lydia whirled around to face Adrianna, a particular silver picture frame clutched in her hands. “So we're both good at hiding things.” She pointed out, a glint of something young and excited in her eyes. “For example, who this fine young man is.” Lydia turned the frame so that Adrianna could see the picture.

Sighing, Adrianna leaned on her elbows as Luke Castellan's mischievous expression grinned at her. It was a very old picture, taken at least four years ago with an antique camera Chiron had stored inside the big house for special occasions. She'd been twelve at the time, Luke couldn't have been older than fourteen, and the son of Hermes had snapped the photo when she'd been distracted. It had been her first week at camp and she'd been miserable. Her eyes were set on him, still crinkled at the edges after a ridiculous joke he'd cracked to try to make her smile; the left side of his face was clear—no trace of the ugly scar he now wore.

Lydia's joy waned the longer Adrianna stared at the picture and she sat down beside her, holding out the frame for Adrianna's outstretched hands to take. “What happened to him?” Lydia wisely perceived as Adrianna's fingers drew patterns over her face and Luke's.

For a split second, Adrianna wanted to tell Lydia everything. She wanted to confide in her friend about the dark path Luke had chosen to travel down; about the nightmares she kept having of the many deaths that were to come. And then, she heard Gerard's voice through the walls of the house, downstairs, and all thoughts of unloading burdens from her shoulders vanished.

“Nothing,” She settled for, smiling when Lydia's expression betrayed her disbelief. “He's a friend of mine from a summer camp I go to in New York.” She explained, standing up and setting the frame back where it had been, on top of her dresser.

“His name is Luke,” Adrianna muttered, glancing at the other pictures that perched on the wooden top; one in particular of Kate and her at a young age caught her interest, but for the sake of her emotional integrity, Adrianna turned her back on the display. “Luke Castellan.” She added, tucking her trembling hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

She prayed that Lydia didn't delve deeper into the subject. Adrianna didn't know how many questions she could take before her resolve cracked and the truth came tumbling out of her lips.

“Will you tell me more about it?” Lydia asked and Adrianna's heart plummeted to the floor as she considered lying to avoid talking about her past. “One day?” The girl amended, smiling delicately as tears blurred Adrianna's vision.

She thanked Lydia with a gracious smile and knelt down beside her bed to take out her Mathematics textbook from her book bag. “Yes, one day, I'll tell you everything.” She promised, spreading out her homework sheets on the unmade bed between her and Lydia.

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday, when we went to Scott's house?” Lydia broached after a few minutes of comfortable silence spent calculating immense formulas Adrianna struggled to keep from floating off the pages as she read them.

Dropping her pencil and flexing her aching fingers, Adrianna sat back, mindful not to allow her toes to brush under the edge of her bed, and nodded in response. “Yes, I think I can.” She told Lydia, shutting her textbook after collecting a few stray pages and slipping them inside. “Fire away.” Adrianna prompted as Lydia tried to overcome her shock.

“You mean, you're actually going to explain why all my friends have suddenly gone crazy?” Lydia wondered, her tone shrill and her jaw still slightly slack. “You're not going to ask me, or threaten me, not to tell anyone else what I've learned?”

Snorting, Adrianna shook her head. “No, I don't think that's necessary.” Bunching up her sleeves to expose her scarred arms, Adrianna fisted her hands as Lydia stared, awestruck. “You'll either be too scared or too far in denial to bother informing other people what I'm about to tell you.”

“Where did you get those?” Lydia asked instead of commenting on Adrianna's theory. “Some of those are from burns and others are from severe lacerations.” She noticed, craning her neck to get a better angle at the iridescent, white and reddish marks, according to their age.

“How much do you know about legends, myths and ancient stories passed around campfires and told as though they were jokes?” Adrianna questioned, licking her lips as Lydia's keen eyes narrowed on her.

“Every culture in history has a different version to tell,” Lydia replied, leaning back so that there was more distance between them. “Most of them have similarities between them, though. Valhalla for the Vikings is Elysium for the Greeks and Romans.”

Nodding her head, Adrianna rolled down her sleeves and shook out her fingers. “What if I were to tell you that all of those myths and legends are real?” She proposed. “And that they are all around you, everyday, affecting your life?”

Lydia tilted her head to the side, as though trying to gauge whether Adrianna was lying, before exhaling an incredulous breath of air. “I'd say you were delusional and have you committed to the nearest insane asylum.” She stated seriously, smiling falsely as Adrianna's hopes fell.

“Yeah,” She muttered under her breath. “You're right. I had you reeling for a moment though.” She pointed out, forcing a laugh and wagging her finger teasingly.

Lydia pressed her lips together but hummed her agreement all the same. “You know, those flowers on your desk are quite beautiful.” The strawberry-blonde changed the subject and Adrianna let her. “The purple ones in the middle remind me of the ones my mother planted on our back porch.”

“Really?” Adrianna pretended to be enraptured by the conversation when really, she was wondering whether there was a place within Lydia giant brain that believed her. Now that the idea had been planted, it would be impossible for the girl not to begin noticing the supernatural around her. Eventually, she'd have to accept the truth.

 _But today is not that day_ , Adrianna realized and accepted as she unfurled her notes and returned to her algebra homework. She hoped it didn't come too soon, for Lydia's sake.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Leaves crunched beneath Stiles' shoes as he paced back and forth in front of the secure transport van he'd borrowed from the sheriff's station parking lot. Technically, he'd stolen it, but since he planned on returning it in the near future, Stiles figured that he could say it was borrowed. It definitely sounded better.

Crashing through the woods and into the clearing at Lookout Point that he and Allison had chosen to move to after finding out that Jackson's parents had reported him missing—despite Stiles' ingenious plan to commandeer Jackson's phone and communicate with his parents through the device so as not to arouse suspicion—Scott stumbled to a halt beside Allison, panting as he caught his breath.

“I talked to Danny,” He gasped, straightening his posture and breathing in deeply several times before recovering. The perks of being a werewolf, Stiles supposed. “He gave me the keys to his car but when I checked the trunk, it was busted open with nothing inside.” He summarized.

“So someone stole the tablet?” Allison concluded. “Who could have done that?”

“Let me think,” Stiles tapped his chin. “Someone with enough strength to break open a secured latch, motive to want the information held within the tablet, a tendency to disappear at random intervals, and who was conveniently at the scene of the crime. Boy, does that sound familiar.” He sarcastically listed.

“You mean Jackson?” Scott's expression betrayed his dislike for the suggestion.

“Yes, I mean Jackson.” Stiles exasperatedly retorted, gesticulating with his arms as he tried to prove his point to Scott and Allison. “The guy turns into a lizard by night that paralyzes people from the neck down. I'd say that's more than enough for us to consider him.”

Glancing between each other, Allison shrugged, unconvinced but clearly not ready to discard the idea. “We could ask him?” She seemed to question, unsure of her suggestion even as she said it.

“If Jackson doesn't remember being the Kanima,” Scott realized. “He's definitely not gonna remember stealing Danny's tablet.”

Twisting his lip to the side, Stiles found his original idea wilting before his eyes. “Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?” He asked the others, shaking his head as he started gathering a new list of possible suspects.

“What if someone else took it?” Allison spoke what they were all thinking.

Stiles cracked his knuckles. “Then somebody else knows what he is.” He understood.

“Uh,” Scott piped up intelligently. “Which could mean someone's protecting him.” Stiles cringed at the suggestion. It didn't make sense to him. Why would someone go to all that trouble if they were just going to use Jackson as a weapon? The boy wouldn't remember anything anyway.

“Like the bestiary says,” Allison pointed out hopefully. “'The Kanima seeks a friend,' right?”

“Okay, hold on.” Stiles waved his arms about for silence. “So, somebody watched Jackson make a video of himself turning into the Kanima, and then just erased part of it so he wouldn't know?” He wondered disbelievingly. “I mean, who would do that?”

“Somebody who wanted to protect him?” Allison rephrased Scott's earlier proposition, grasping for anything that could solve the mystery.

“There's something else.” Scott reminded them, directing his attention to Allison. “You said the only thing you found online about the Kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?”

“No, it can't be.” Stiles immediately refuted. “It tried to kill all of us, remember?” He prompted them. “I don't know about you two, but I haven't murdered anybody lately.”

Stepping back, Scott ran a hand through his messy hair. “But I—” He struggled to coherently put into words. “I don't think that it was actually trying to kill us. Remember at Isaac's the first time, it just went right by us, didn't it?” He asked Allison, who nodded sullenly, agreeing.

“You're right,” She chimed in. “It just ran off.”

“And it didn't kill you in the mechanic's garage.” Scott continued, this time focusing on Stiles who shuffled his feet awkwardly under two of his friends scrutinous gazes.

“Well, yeah,” He inadvertently supported Scott's theory. “But it tried to kill me, Derek, and Adrianna at the pool.” Stiles added unhelpfully.

“Did it?” Scott speculated as the insides of Stiles head buzzed with energy, searching for a way to prove that Scott was wrong. For some reason, the prospect that the Kanima hadn't wanted to kill him was even more disturbing than what he'd believed since he first saw the creature.

“It would've.” He argued. “It was waiting for us to come out.”

“What if it was trying to keep you in?” Scott asked him, excitement from the prospect of being right showing clearly on his face.

“It wasn't.” Stiles nearly shouted as his brain made the connection that would disprove Scott's theory in less than a moment. “It came after your cousin and even fell into the pool trying to dismember her.” He told Allison, who merely blinked in response to the information.

“That doesn't mean that Scott's wrong.” Allison reluctantly admitted, avoiding eye contact with Stiles when his mouth gaped open in surprise. “It could've gone after her while still trying to keep you and Derek inside the pool.”

“Nuh-uh.” Stiles refuted, shaking his head rigorously. “Not unless Adrianna was a—” He broke off as realization struck him like a bolt of lightening. “You don't think that she's— _killed people?_ ” He whispered dramatically.

“You're kidding, right?” Scott asked, clearly not expecting Stiles to not have considered the possibility that Adrianna Argent was a murderer. “You were the one always saying you didn't trust her. She's freaked you out since the moment you met her.” Scott pressed, searching for an explanation.

“Only because she scares me.” He replied, remembering all the times he'd seen her do incredible, absolutely unnatural things. “You're right, she's probably killed people.” Stiles agreed, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer than necessary.

“Not probably,” Scott corrected ominously, his hand migrating to his side thoughtfully. “She has. I know it. I've seen it.”

Stiles' blood ran cold as a shiver coruscated up his spine. “Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?” He asked no one in particular.

“Because there's something else going on.” Scott supplied. “We don't know what it is. We don't know anything about what's going on with Jackson, or why someone's protecting him.” He added morosely.

“Know thy enemy.” Allison quoted suddenly, after remaining silent for an extended period of time. Stiles guessed the revelation with her cousin had been more than enough for her to handle without thinking about the mess they were in with everything else.

“Just something my grandfather said.” She told them after noticing that both Stiles and Scott were looking at her. All three of them knew that her words applied to more than just the Kanima.

“Alright, I got it.” Stiles interrupted everyone's miserable thoughts. “Kill Jackson. Problem solved.” He triumphantly declared.

“He risked his life for us.” Scott argued. “Against Peter, you remember that?”

Nodding his head exaggeratedly, Stiles' brows rose up and down with his words. “Yes, but what did we just find out?” Stiles reminded them bitterly. “He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us, it's funny.”

“Yeah,” Scott half agreed. “But it doesn't mean he's not still worth saving.” Over the rocky cliffs of the Beacon Hills Preserve, the sun began it's descent out of the sky and the stars blinked into existence.

“It's always something with him, though.” Stiles pointed out, not quite as in favour of saving the boy as he'd been when Jackson's life literally hung in the balance against two werewolves and a murderous huntress.

“He doesn't know what he's doing.” Scott tried to excuse weakly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles disregarded his friend's goal. “So what?” He pressed.

“So, I didn't either.” Scott explained, his voice thickening with emotion and commitment. “You remember when I almost killed you and Jackson?” He asked Allison, who hesitantly licked her lips before nodding in confirmation. “I had someone to stop me. He has nobody.” Scott informed them.

“That's his own fault.” Stiles stubbornly fought.

“Doesn't matter.” Scott just as resolutely declared. “If we can save him, we should try.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Allison's feet dragged against the carpeted floor of her room as she heaved a defeated sigh. Jackson had gotten loose from the transport van he'd been chained to, most likely after transforming into the Kanima, and she hadn't heard from Scott or Stiles since leaving them at the preserve. They'd been planning on telling Stiles' father everything and were probably at the Sheriff's station now.

She dreaded to find out in the morning what had caused the lack of contact. Whatever it was—whether the Sheriff hadn't believed them or both of them had been arrested for Jackson's kidnapping—it was guaranteed to be bad.

Flipping on her light switch and dumping her purse unceremoniously on her desk, beside her computer, Allison's gaze slid over her mirror and her heart skipped a beat as she noticed Lydia sitting on the edge of her bed.

“You scared the hell out of me.” She complained, grasping her chest in an attempt to slow the beating of the organ within. “Where's Adrianna? I thought you two were gonna study without me?”

“I've been sitting here for an hour, waiting for you.” Lydia retorted, casually dodging Allison's questions.

Pressing her lips together but choosing not to make a big deal out of it, seeing as Allison was more guilty than Lydia could ever be of lying, Allison began to unload her homework from within her purse.

“I can't hang out right now, Lydia.” She informed her, pulling her scarf over her head as the air became stuffy in her room the longer she kept it on. “Why don't you spend some time with Adrianna?” Allison suggested.

Lydia's voice became aggravated as she huffed. “I don't need anyone to hang out with.” Lydia corrected rather icily. “I need someone to talk to—that's _sane_.” She added.

Turning to face her friend, Allison leaned against the side of her desk as she tried to phrase her next words delicately. “I—I understand that it's important, but if it can just wait—” Allison tried to bargain, only to be interrupted.

“Why is everyone always telling me to wait?” Lydia unhappily asked, spreading her fingers wide and then allowing them to fall back into her lap. “Why can't anyone have 'right now' available?”

Sighing heavily, Allison felt her irritation rising the longer Lydia refused to be cooperative. “Because you can't have everything right now.” Allison finally snapped, licking her lips as Lydia's expression became one of hurt and contemplation. “You know what I need?” She questioned her friend tiredly. “I need someone to translate five pages of archaic Latin. Obviously, that's not gonna happen anytime soon.” She mourned.

Further in the house, from what sounded like the bathroom across the hall, Allison heard a resounding crack echo through the house. She wondered if her cousin had accidentally broken the taps. It wouldn't have been the first time Adrianna had used excessive force.

“I know archaic Latin.” Lydia trilled from where she now stood beside Allison.

Narrowing her gaze, Allison shook her head. Her first thought was that it was too good to be true, but then she remembered all the times Lydia had surprised her before and she allowed the seed of hope to blossom within her. “You know archaic Latin?” She asked, just to be certain.

Quirking her shoulders insouicantly, Lydia copied Allison's smile. “I got bored with classical Latin.” The strawberry blonde informed.

Laughing under her breath, Allison slipped off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. “Just how smart are you?” She wondered, slightly awe-struck.

A faint blush tinted Lydia's peachy cheeks and she extended her hand dutifully towards Allison. “Just show me the pages.” Lydia told her, obviously uncomfortable with the attention—which was very unusual for the outgoing girl.

Opening her laptop and inserting the USB drive, Allison sat back as Lydia took the chair in front of the desk and began deciphering the bestiary with nothing but a scrap piece of paper, watery pen, and her own fantastic brain.

“Which part do you need translated?” She beckoned Allison to answer as her pen hovered over a blank page.

“Um,” Allison fumbled, scratching her head as she considered how to explain what she needed in English without appearing totally insane. “The entire page should be good. You can start after that picture.” She said, pointing towards an illustration of the Kanima.

“Okay,” Lydia agreed, already beginning to write down words from the utter nonsense on the computer. “This might take a minute though.” She warned.

“Don't worry,” Allison assured, relief in her voice. “A few minutes is way better than a few weeks.”

Scribbling fervently, Allison couldn't help but notice that there was a slight tremor in the other girl's writing, stemming from her hand. “Lydia?” She coaxed as her friend's hand stopped moving altogether. “Are you alright?” Allison wondered.

“Yeah,” Lydia answered in a clipped voice, taking a moment to wipe her palms on her skirt. “Is this a legend?” She asked shakily, staring at the picture on the screen warily.

“Uh, I guess.” Allison replied, grasping for a good excuse to cover why she had such a document. “I'm doing this project—” She stuttered to expel from her lips.

“For the next level in our game,” Adrianna interrupted from where she stood, leaning against Allison's door-frame. “Scott, Stiles, Allison and I are part of this online club that fights mythical monsters.” She added as Lydia's full attention drifted to her.

“Oh,” Lydia muttered. “That's cool.”

“It is, isn't it?” Adrianna responded, grinning widely, something foreign alight in her fiery green eyes. “People never realize how much historical legends and myths play a part in their lives.” She told them, pushing away from the door-frame and jutting her chin out in Lydia's direction.

“I've gotta go,” She shared with them and Allison noticed a speckle of black tar staining the edge of her eye, as though she'd begun crying the substance. “Remember what I said.” Adrianna said to Lydia, whose face was paler than usual.

As her cousin wandered off, her heels clapping down the stairs, Lydia returned to translating the bestiary. Allison worried why Adrianna had taken such an interest in her friend but before she could mention it to Lydia, the red-head was waving her page triumphantly in the air.

“Here it is,” She declared rather seriously. “All done.”

Getting up and snatching the page, too excited to worry about her rushed manner, Allison read the page and felt her insides plummet. “Are you sure?” She asked Lydia, pointing to a particular page on the sheet. “Ms. Morrell said that word means 'friend.'”

Studying the same segment in Latin, Lydia nodded, underlining the word with her polished fingernail. “She was wrong.” Lydia proudly pointed out. “It means 'master.'”

“'The Kanima seeks a master.'" Allison read aloud. Rolling her chair back and standing up to collect her purse from Allison's bed, Lydia had her back turned as Allison took her seat to stare at the computer screen.

“Why?” The girl asked from across the room. “Is that important?”

“Yeah.” Allison replied half-heartedly, still transfixed by the inked words Lydia had scrawled only a moment ago. “Someone's not protecting him.” Allison realized. “Someone's controlling him.”


	7. Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warnings for abuse

Her boots squelched into the mud of the riverbed as she frantically ran for her life. It was nighttime and the full moon was at it's peak. Overhead, the stars twinkled brightly and an owl hooted it's warning as Adrianna sloshed through knee-deep, icy cold water.

Crossing the river would be her only chance to lose them. Her tracks would be washed away and she'd be able to disappear into the forest and seek shelter from the hunters hot on her trail. She'd been raised as one of them; Adrianna thought that she had a pretty good chance of outsmarting them despite the wound in her thigh.

Shivers racked her soaked frame and her fingers were so numb, they'd begun to physically pain her. Still, she kept trodding through the river, a dip in the floor beneath her causing her to sink all the way to her armpits. She grunted in discomfort but did not scream. Surely, the people hunting her—the men she'd called family for as long as she could remember—would hear her if she spoke louder than a whisper.

Lights and shouts from behind her signaled the approaching threat. Adrianna turned to see how far they were from her position, only to loose her footing and slip beneath the surface of the dark, murky water.

As soon as she was submerged, Adrianna felt herself panic. Even though she'd overcome her fear long enough to fight off the Kanima at the school's pool with Derek and Stiles, Adrianna knew her phobia was as debilitating as ever.

The current pulled her this way and that, so much so that, with darkness closing in all around her, she forgot which way was up, to the surface. Her hands reached out blindly, clawing at whatever she could; her fingers snagged on reeds and sharp rocks but nothing that could help her to regain her bearings.

Dizziness overtook her and the urge to inhale became so overwhelming that she found herself having to clamp her teeth into her lips to keep them sealed. Her leg ached terribly and Adrianna was certain that she'd lost too much blood by now to properly defend herself, should she even survive long enough to reach the shore.

With her head pounding and her vision becoming cloudy, Adrianna used the last of her strength in a maneover that would either kill her right there, or be her salvation. Wrapping her arms around herself, Adrianna permitted her body to sink like a stone to the bottom of the river. As her back collided with the silt riverbed, Adrianna managed to get her feet underneath her and kick off from the bottom, towards the surface.

Her lungs burned like she'd inhaled hot coals and her entire body felt as though it was being repeatedly assaulted by a thousand icy needles, but it was all worth it when her head popped out of the water and she inhaled the chilly night air greedily.

Sure enough, the hunters were waiting for her on the opposite side of the river, in the same direction from whence she'd came. Exhausted and too afraid of the inky liquid surrounding her to think straight, Adrianna made the choice to paddle towards the closest shore, exactly where her grandfather, Gerard, awaited her with his army of loyal hunters.

Crawling across the muddy bank, Adrianna's fingers dug into the slippery earth beneath her as she struggled to stand upright. Already, there were hunters on the move, preparing to engage in close combat with her. Some of the men had known her since infancy so it was no surprise that they were hesitant to shoot her. It was an unspoken code between hunters that, when ordered to kill one of their own, guns were never used.

A bald-headed man in his late forties reached her first, just as she'd managed to climb to her knees. Adrianna remembered learning how to clean and assemble a gun from the very same man—his name was Sean and when his boot made contact with Adrianna's stomach, all thoughts of sparing him from her wrath faded instantly.

Grabbing hold of the man's foot mid-swing, Adrianna twisted with all her might, jerking him off his feet and into the ground beneath. One swift right hook to his chin and the burly man lost consciousness. Flexing her fingers, Adrianna stood up on groaning joints to face the assembled hunters before her.

“How are we gonna do this?” She asked them and it reminded her of all the times during her training when she'd spoken the very same words to the very same men. “Dead or unconscious?”

The man closest to her in the circle of hunters, a long haired, wiry Frenchman by the name of Antoine, with a thin mustache cloaking his upper lip, took a step forward, brandishing a wickedly sharp blade. His comrades followed his lead, each defending themselves with their choice weapons; knives, clubs, crossbows and even brass knuckles.

Grinning toothily, Adrianna lifted her fists and spread her feet wide. Blood soaked her pant leg, all to way to her calf. It was bright red and warm against her skin. “Unconscious then.” She decided after assessing the lack of fatal weapons in her opponent's midst.

A second later, the hunters converged on her all at once with varying levels of brutality. Mark, the youngest of the group with the least respect and familiarity to Adrianna, attacked from the side, aiming to lodge his four foot bowi knife between her second and third rib. With a hasty step forward, Adrianna was able to twist the weapon out of his grasp and slam her fist into his chest, knocking him to the ground where she kicked his chin with her combat boot, ensuring he stayed down.

Sean fought the way a classic American would, with his fists bare and his temper on the boil. Despite his daunting size, Adrianna had learned how to defeat him years ago and so, she was able to lift her knee into his stomach and slap the edge of her hand into the base of his neck with hardly any thought.

With two incapacitated and three remaining, Adrianna took a moment to catch her breath. Sneaky as ever, Antoine chose that moment to pounce from behind, wrapping his long and weedy arms around Adrianna's upper body and squeezing her larynx. She coughed, surprised, and struggled to extricate herself from his grasp. Antoine was the most proficient out of all of them in close quarter's combat. He'd been her teacher before she'd been sent to camp.

Shaking her head to regain her senses, Adrianna launched her elbow into the man's ribs and shuddered as the other hunters began landing punches on her exposed torso and chest. Digging her long, mud-caked fingernails into Antoine's hairy arm, Adrianna was relieved when the man cried out and dropped her. Following the moment of her fall, Adrianna landed on the ground in a crouch and swept out her good leg to disable Antoine's stance. He toppled like a heavy sack of flour and fell into the river nearby.

Sean and a brutal Englishman named Eddie were the only two still standing, but more were on their way. Just over the crest of the hill that disguised the forest clearing from view, Adrianna could see the reflective light of the hunter's flashlight beams closing in and their shouts began to sound louder.

Wasting no time, Adrianna vaulted her good leg high into the air and slammed it into Sean's midsection. He grunted in pain but held steady, grabbing onto her appendage and pulling her off her feet. Fortunately for Adrianna, she'd been trained for an event such as this, so she knew to roll with the momentum—taking Sean with her and twisting his arm behind his back in the process—and spring to her feet.

Slamming her knuckles into his throat, he gagged uncontrollably, dropping his now useless crossbow and clawing frantically at his broken trachea. Turning away from him, Adrianna was taken off guard when Eddie's immense, bronze laced fists slammed into her temple, knocking her to the muddy floor.

Her vision swam and pulsed with strange colours and her energy was nearly entirely depleted. A kick in her stomach and the audible snapping of her lower ribs was nearly enough to send her mind to oblivion. Fingers slick with her own blood mixed with other's, Adrianna placed her palm flat against the ground and concentrated on the tingling in her fingers.

The sensation spread up her arm, all the way past her chest until it settled in her gut like an elastic band pulling her muscles taut. Grey ashes emerged from out of her fingertips, creeping through the muddy tracks and blood-stains all the way to Eddie's boot-clad foot. The man himself was transfixed by the display and so, as Adrianna's power spread up his ankles to his legs and chest, eventually encircling his neck and head, he hardly had enough time to scream out in horror as his body numbed to the point of paralysis and he collapsed in a useless heap.

Breathing a sigh of relief and satisfaction of a job well done, Adrianna only had a moment to painfully demand her body to it's feet, before Gerard and his reinforcements arrived. At least a hundred guns—pistols, semi-automatics and a few AK47's—were pointed directly at her, along with several spot lights that made her wince and blink back spots.

“Hold your fire.” Gerard ordered, stepping forth out of the crowd to face his granddaughter. “Hello, Adrianna.” He greeted with false civility, sneering at her as he took in the sight of his best men, lying at her feet. “I see you've already reacquainted yourself with some of your old teachers.”

Inclining her head to the side, Adrianna felt slimy, viscous hatred coating her throat as she replied with just as much ire as Gerard, “They weren't exactly a challenge but what else can I expect from a man that stands behind the sidelines and lets everyone else dirty their hands so he doesn't have to.”

Face colouring with his rage, Gerard lifted his hand to keep his troops at bay as they grew restless to kill the girl that dared insult their leader. “You're just as impertinent and ungrateful as ever.” He pointed out calmly, stepping forward still so that only a yard or two separated them.

“And you're still just as manipulative and self-centered as you've always been.” Adrianna retorted, glancing around her at the hunters gathered under Gerard's battle call. “Tell me, where's Allison?” She asked, cocking her head to the side as Gerard's hands tightened into fists. “Did she leave you, too?” Adrianna pressed.

“No,” A voice replied from within the crowd. “I remain loyal to the blood that runs through my veins. Argent blood. _Hunter's_ blood.” Men parted and made room as Allison stalked towards Gerard and Adrianna, a quiver of arrows slung over her leather clad shoulder and a bloody bow tightly grasped in her gloved hand. Her pale face shone in the moonlight, as did the necklace dangling near her chest—Kate's necklace, passed down from Gerard.

 _That should have been mine_ , Adrianna couldn't help but think as her cousin stopped once she'd reached Gerard's shoulder. “Do you know what you're doing?” She found herself questioning Allison, who met her incredulous gaze with steely determination. “You're following a monster. Don't you remember anything I taught you? The code specifically prohibits us from killing innocent werewolves.” Adrianna reminded, looking around her at all the other hunters. “Where has your bravery gone?” She asked them all.

“Enough.” Gerard snarled as he took note of the nervous shifting within his ranks. “Allison is our leader and as such, she has made all the tactical decisions. She's your replacement, Adrianna.” He taunted. “And I must admit that, although she's not as powerful as you, she is much more obedient.”

“You're insane.” Adrianna retorted, spittle flying out of her mouth as her vexation continued to mount. “Can't you see it? He's a hypocrite.” She beckoned Allison to understand, but her mind had already been set long before.

“He _is_ what he hunts.” Adrianna desperately tried to reason, but her words fell on deaf ears. “Not all werewolves are bloodthirsty monsters. Some of them have even spared your lives. Some of them have given them your hearts.” She pointed out to the hunters around her. Allison shifted her footing at the mentioning of hearts but didn't lessen her support any.

“They don't _care_ , Adrianna.” Gerard harshly informed her, his eyes narrowing hatefully on her. “So long as they get their revenge—so long as we kill every supernatural in Beacon Hills—they'll follow anyone.”

“And _anything_?” She demanded, keeping her shoulders squared and her chin held high. She took pride in the fact that her grandfather had never been able to tame her, despite his enormous efforts.

“Well,” Gerard muttered, smiling wickedly. “Why don't we find out?” He asked, advancing on her with strength he'd never had as a dying man. Extending his arms at his sides, claws grew in the place of fingernails and his teeth sharpened into animalistic points.

As he came upon her, slashing his claws at her face, Adrianna ducked out of the way successfully, but her reflexes were slow and her strength had left along with her blood. She fell trying to evade his next blow and the slippery mud beneath her coated every inch of her back and legs, so much so that the red of her blood stood out among all the brown.

Gerard's eyes glittered like molten lava and brought forth terror from Adrianna's heart. Eyes she'd only ever seen in nightmares as a child afraid of the creatures in the dark, trained on her then and promised a painful end. She hardly felt his razor sharp claws as they dug into the bullet wound on her thigh, the fear was so intense, but she did feel it when his nails scraped up her leg, ripping the material of her pants and drawing angry red lines in her flesh.

She refused to cry out, even as agonized tears blurred her vision. Snarling his distaste, Gerard stood over her and wrapped his hands around her neck, imprinting gory crescents just below her jaw.

“You could never replace your mother,” He whispered to her as tremors racked her beaten and defeated body. “I should have known better than to let a half-breed abomination into my house.” Gerard told her, stroking his claws near her aorta mockingly.

With what was left of her strength, Adrianna spat in her grandfather's face. “I am not Kate,” She growled at him. “And I am not your puppet.”

Slapping her across the face with the palm of his hand, Gerard forced her gaze to meet his by digging his claws into the top of her scalp. “You're harder to kill than I'd imagined,” He shared. “But it's of no consequence now. If you want the job done, you really have to do it yourself.” He quoted what Kate had often said on difficult hunts, drawing back his arm high into the air and holding it there for a moment.

“Don't let him use you!” Adrianna hastily cried to her cousin, who had stood by and watched as death loomed over the girl that had once been in her place. “Whatever you do, remember who you are. You can't let him take that away from you.” She muttered sadly. “It's the only thing that matters, in the end.”

And before she could remind Allison of all the good, innocent, loving werewolves she'd met and grown fond of—some more than others—Gerard growled angrily and slashed down his claws with death on his mind, sinking them deep into Adrianna's throat.

She inhaled raggedly as what remained of her blood seeped out of her body and her last thought before her eyes closed and darkness enclosed her mind, was that she did not regret choosing her heart over her mind.

Adrianna didn't regret standing shoulder to shoulder with Isaac, Derek, Scott, and Stiles—despite the memory of their dead bodies strewn across the floor of a cavernous warehouse, still fresh in her thoughts.

**#-#-#-#-#**

As Sheriff Stilinski adjusted the clipboard in his hand, staring at Scott and Stiles with disappointment and anger clear in his gaze, Melissa couldn't help but wondering what she'd done wrong. Her son had been acting strangely for the past six months, coming home late, experiencing mood swings she couldn't explain, and even falling in love and breaking up with a girl she'd never actually been properly introduced to. But none of that could compare to the restraining order the Sheriff read off somberly to his son and hers.

“You will not go within fifty feet of Jackson Whittemore.” He told them. “You will not speak to him. You will not approach him. You will not assault or harass him, physically or psychologically.” The Sheriff dictated.

Raising his hand, Stiles licked his lips as his father stared at him in warning. Melissa knew how off-topic Stiles could get and for his sake, along with his father's, she hoped he wasn't going to take a flying leap off tangent.

“What about school?” He asked with surprising logic. Beside him, Scott was silent, refusing to meet Melissa's eyes. He knew he'd crossed a line; this time, she couldn't ignore his behavior with the promise that everything would be fine—that it was just a phase.

“You can attend classes while attempting to maintain a fifty-foot distance.” The Sheriff replied to his son, setting the clipboard down onto the stainless steel table top as he'd finished reading off the stipulations Jackson's father, also a rather prolific and rich lawyer, had insisted upon.

“But—” Stiles began to contest, stopping for a moment when he saw his father crossing his arms in warning. “Okay, what if we both have to use the bathroom at the same time and there's only two stalls available and they're only right next to each other?” He impishly continued, lowering his head between his shoulders as though feeling the physical effects of his father's intense stare.

“I'll just hold it.” Stiles muttered to himself and Melissa had to tighten her lips to prevent herself from smiling. One look at David Whittemore was enough to do the job for her.

“Do I need to remind you how lucky we are that they're not pressing charges?” The Sheriff nearly growled as he opened the door for his son to step out of the room they'd been in. Melissa was certain that the only thing stopping him from full-out yelling was the fact that they were in a public place. Once the Stilinski's got home, Stiles was certain to be in for an earful—as was Scott, now that she thought about it.

“Oh, come on,” She heard the spastic boy complain. “It was just a joke.”

“It was a joke?” The Sheriff raised his eyebrows, incredulous.

“Yes,” Stiles cried, flapping his arms out in wide gestures. “I didn't think it would be taken this seriously. Dad, humor's very subjective, okay?” He tried to excuse. “I mean, we're talking, like, multiple levels of interpretation here.”

“Uh, huh.” His father inclined his head, clearly not believing a word his son was saying.

“Uh, huh.” Stiles affirmed, slightly taken aback.

“Okay,” The Sheriff pointed between him and his son. “Well how exactly am I supposed to interpret the stolen prison transport van, huh?” He questioned.

“We filled the tank!” His voice rose in pitch, as did Melissa's temper. Those two boys thought they could get away with anything. Nudging Scott's shoulder as they passed behind a very angry Sheriff and a very desperate Stiles, Melissa breathed deeply, trying to maintain in control over her riotous emotions.

“Move.” She lowly instructed Scott as he hesitated by his friend's side. Once they'd gotten into one of the hallways leading to the Sheriff's station exit, Melissa placed a hand on her son's shoulder and turned him to face her. “It's not just this.” She reminded him. “Although, a restraining order is a new low that I didn't think that you would reach quite this soon. It's everything on top of it.” She shared, lifting her hand to begin the litany of Scott's misbehaviors.

“The completely bizarre behavior,” She started on her thumb. “The late nights coming home, having to beg Mister Harris for you to make up that Chemistry test that you missed.” Melissa added, already three fingers in.

“I missed a Chemistry test?” Scott asked, his face betraying his genuine surprise.

“Really, Scott? Really?” She wondered, nearly to the point of hysteria. “I have to ground you. I am grounding you.” She decided. “You are grounded.” Melissa pointed a stern finger his way, just to make certain he knew she was serious.

“What about work?” Scott countered as she crossed her arms under her chest.

“Fine—other than work.” She relented, searching for some other suitable punishment to inflict on her son, with the hope that he would regain some of his senses. “And no TV.” She added.

“My TV's broken.” He sheepishly told her, eyes flitting about the hallway nervously.

“Then no computer.” Melissa amended threateningly.

“I need the computer for school.” Scott reminded her, biting his lip.

Sighing and looking around herself for more ideas, Melissa felt her brain beginning to scramble. “Then no, uh—” She stuttered, still undecided on what else would be harsh enough to prove her point. “No Stiles.” She finally uttered as the boy appeared behind her, in the open doorway.

“What—no Stiles?” The boy in question asked, approaching her with the intent of fighting the verdict, clearly demoralized at the concept of not having access to his best, and she was fairly certain, only friend.

“No Stiles!” Melissa shouted, scaring him back to where he'd been. “And no more car privileges.” She directed to Scott, extending her hand. “Give me your keys.” She calmly asked.

Scott sighed, his shoulder slumping in defeat, but didn't move to retrieve his keys. Her patience waning, Melissa stomped her foot on the floor, not caring how petulant she might seem, and her voice rose as she angrily asked for them again. “Give 'em to me!”

Frowning, Scott dug into his pocket and placed the jangling keys into her awaiting palm. He looked away from her as her fingers closed around his only form of fast, easy transportation and didn't see her struggling to unslot the key for her car from the link holding various other keys.

“Oh, for the love of god.” Melissa mumbled, her hands shaking the longer the stubborn key refused to unlatch itself.

“Mom,” Scott hesitantly spoke up. “You want me to—”

“No.” She interrupted him hotly, still fiddling with the keys to no avail.

“Mom, come on,” He pleaded guiltily. “Let me just—mom.” He called out as Melissa moved her hands away from him. She didn't want his help; she wanted him to behave like a normal, ordinary teenager that wasn't failing half their classes. Was that really too much to ask?

“Mom!” Scott shouted, only then did she realize that her hands had been trembling so badly, the keys had nearly fallen to the ground. Her son's hands enclosed hers, steadying them.

Exhaling unevenly, Melissa pressed her lips together and looked into Scott's warm, almond coloured eyes. He had his father's eyes. Hers had always been a murky hazel. “What is going on with you?” Her voice cracked and betrayed her sadness. “Is this about Allison?” She pressed, wanting to know the answer so that she could try to fix it; to help her son.

Licking his lips with his eyes darting behind her, towards Stiles, for a moment, Scott's hands tightened around hers. “Do you really wanna know?” He asked her, sounding more like the kid she'd raised and less like the closed-off, troubled teen he'd become.

“Yeah.” Melissa assured him, nodding her head. “Is this about your father?” She wondered, suddenly feeling terrible. “It is, isn't it?” Melissa realized as Scott avoided her eyes and remained silent.

“Okay, you know what,” She proposed, slipping one of her hands out of Scott's to comfortingly tap his wrists. “Um, we'll talk about this at home.” She suggested, treading more gently now that she had an idea as to what was going on. “I'm gonna go get the car.”

Walking past her son, Melissa forced herself to smile back at him before exiting the Sheriff's station. Once she was out on the street, searching for the place where she'd parked her car with barely any luck, Melissa allowed the tears to fall.

“I knew it,” She sobbed, covering her cheeks with her icy hands. “I knew it—this is all my fault.” Melissa realized, regretting the day Scott's father walked out of their lives and never returned.

It was all her fault and she didn't know how to fix it. Not anymore, at least. Things were so different than they'd been a few years ago. Scott was slipping further away from her everyday.

“What am I gonna do now?” She asked herself quietly, staring out into the bleak night, looking for hope but finding none. A streetlight flickered overhead and then shut off, casting shadows around her dark enough to match the gloom sitting heavily in her heart.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her body lurched forwards out of bed as her limbs stung painfully and her throat held the memory of being sliced open like a candle wick held a flame. She looked around her, temporarily blinded by the open curtains and the bright light streaming into her room, and eventually took note that Gerard was sitting beside her, appearing just as startled as she.

“Are you alright?” He asked her kindly, slipping his hand out of hers and moving closer to her. “Did you have a nightmare?” He wondered, clearly remembering all the times she'd screamed herself awake as a child.

Nodding silently because her vocal chords felt rusty and unused, Adrianna watched as Gerard smiled sympathetically, patting her head like a child, before standing up and rolling down the sleeves of his button-up shirt.

He looked nothing like the monster she'd just been slaughtered by—the alpha werewolf responsible for killing the people she was still hesitant to call her friends. They often seemed more like enemies than anything else.

“What are you doing in my room?” Adrianna finally managed to say after a moment of struggling to expel the words from her throat. One of her hands tightly clutched the dagger beneath her pillow while the other was spread out and open over her bed.

Raising one brow, Gerard's hand traced the edge of her bed as he walked around it, towards the door. “I came to tell you that you're late for school,” He informed her casually, clearly having allowed her to sleep in on purpose. “And that you have until the end of the school day to tell me who the Kanima is, before I take matters into my own hands.” He finished with a threat, turning his back on her and strolling out of her room, into the hall.

“I need more time.” Adrianna replied, sitting up and pushing the covers away from herself. “The surveillance op you had me pull last night took a solid six hours out of my deadline.” She reminded him, her eyes still sore from watching her English teacher, who had supposedly been feeling too ill to go to work, through her night-vision binoculars.

Shaking his head, Gerard leaned against the frame of her door, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. “I've already given you more time,” He told her. “Our deal was until noon and I've extended that until three o'clock. You should be more grateful.” He chastised offhandedly before walking away.

“Yeah,” Adrianna breathed, her chest feeling suddenly tight. “Grateful, my ass. Do you want me to kiss your feet, too?” She wondered to herself.

“And Adrianna,” Gerard called from the top of the staircase. “Keep an eye on Allison for me. I'd like you to handle her training from now on.”

Nodding her head and grimacing once her grandfather was out of sight, Adrianna pressed her fingers against her pounding temples. She'd had nightmares that hadn't come true before; nonsensical compilations of all the things she feared and despised most in her life; but Gerard's disfigured face leaning over hers and his claws sinking into her flesh seemed too real to simply be the result of paranoia and lack of rest.

Death had always called to her, whispering when it would come and who it would take. It had just never shown her the time when it came for her. Things were changing and fast—battle lines were being carved out of blood and bones—Adrianna would have to adapt or die. That much was very clear.

**#-#-#-#-#**

It was official. Isaac Lahey spent entirely too much time thinking about Adrianna Argent passively, than he did in a violent, killing way. He just couldn't bring himself to picture his claws slashing into her flesh, spilling her blood and drawing out her screams. It made him physically shudder to imagine.

On the other hand, thinking about the way her eyes glinted dangerously whenever she was near, or the way her brown hair seemed more blonde in the sunlight, or even the way her lips puckered when she was angry, was much easier. Almost _too_ easy. He had to constantly remind himself that she was his enemy; that she wouldn't hesitate to fight and kill him, if given the order, so neither should he.

Following Derek through the subway car he'd been sleeping in for the past few weeks since his father's death, Isaac felt the tension between him and Erica as tense as it had been yesterday, when she and Boyd had left him to recover from whatever Adrianna had done to him. Her heeled steps echoed behind him, reminding him of her presence even when he couldn't see her.

“So why do we need their help?” He wondered out loud, in response to Derek's previous statement regarding Scott and his little pack of misfits humans.

Easily jumping the distance between the subway car and the ground, Derek crouched in front of a large, wooden chest and inserted an old looking key into the lock. “Because it's harder to kill than I thought,” He gruffly admitted, not facing either of them. “And I still don't know who it is.”

“And they do?” He shot back curiously. As far as he'd been aware, the trio, along with Adrianna, didn't seem to be aware of who the human behind the Kanima was, or else, they'd have certainly taken measures to protect, or in Adrianna's case—destroy, the person.

Pushing open the lid and rummaging within the chest, Derek stood back beside Isaac and Erica, addressing them both in his own short, bitter way. “They might.” He reminded Isaac, proving to the young werewolf that his Alpha wasn't sure of his own plan. “Which is why I need one of you to get on their good side.” He added, pointedly raising his eyebrows at them both.

“Mm,” Erica hummed thoughtfully. “Scott or Stiles?” She asked, grinning suggestively before turning her suddenly hardened stare on Isaac. “I guess we know who you'll try to persuade.” She narrowed her eyes distrustfully and Isaac rolled his shoulders to try to ease the tension he felt there.

“Either.” Derek barked in reply, drawing away Erica's attention, but only for a moment. “And you,” He addressed the curly-haired beta. “Should take my warnings seriously. You don't know what the Argent family is capable of—all of it's members are the same. Trust me.”

Rolling his eyes and then nodding his head when he saw Derek's expression of annoyance, Isaac looked over the older man's shoulder, towards the open chest that sat on the concrete floor. Leaning back on the balls of his feet, Isaac sighed heavily as he remembered the flashes of unprovoked rage he'd been experiencing lately.

“You know,” He casually dismissed the previous topic, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his Alpha's advice. “The full moon's coming, Derek.”

“I'm aware of that.” Derek snapped as Erica bent over and extracted a handful of rusted, iron chains from within the chest.

“Oh my,” She sarcastically commented, dropping what looked like a leather harness along with the chains, back inside the box. “These look comfortable.”

“You said you were gonna teach us to change whenever we wanted.” Isaac reminded Derek, feeling more than a little mislead. The only reason he'd agreed to the bite in the first place, was because he'd been promised control. He didn't want to be a monster, he wanted to be powerful. The two were very different but, unfortunately, went hand in hand.

“There hasn't been time.” The ornery werewolf supplied unhelpfully, pacing away from his betas and further into the warehouse as if he needed space to think.

“But if you have to lock us up during the full moon, that means—” Isaac realized, his heart suddenly doubling it's pace and his hands beginning to sweat. “That means you're alone against the Argents.”

What he didn't say, that everyone knew he really meant, was that Derek would be alone against Adrianna. Isaac knew without a doubt, by the way everyone had been telling him that she'd fought off the Kanima and earned her status as off-limits to him, along with 'extremely dangerous hunter—kill on sight', that Derek didn't stand a chance against her, without backup.

Derek narrowed his gaze and for a moment, Isaac was afraid that the older man could read his thoughts. “They haven't found us.” He supplied. The darkening of Derek's voice told Isaac that he'd hit a sore spot but, despite the danger of pushing his Alpha too far, Isaac continued to try to make his point.

“Yet!” He retorted hotly. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before one of them slipped up and managed to get followed to the warehouse after school. “So how about we forget the Kanima?” Isaac beckoned Derek to heed his counsel but the other man remained fixed where he stood. Isaac thought that he almost seemed afraid for a moment, but then Derek's anger bubbled to the surface and vanquished any doubts the beta had regarding his Alpha's motives.

“ _We can't!_ ” Derek yelled, rounding on Isaac like a cornered wolf, his hackles raising. “There was something about the way Gerard and Adrianna looked at it.” He continued, his temper under more control now that he'd expelled most of his irritation. “They weren't afraid— _at all_.”

Isaac remembered all the times Adrianna had faced him. He'd thought she was stubborn and naive—following a tradition passed down from generation to generation in her family—but perhaps she was simply unafraid of him. Maybe she knew that he wasn't a real threat to her.

“I don't know what Gerard knows or what he's planning,” Derek's features contorted in determination as his fists clenched at his sides. “But I'm sure about one thing. We have to find it first.” He told them.

Which, Isaac soon understood, would mean that he really would have to try his best to get on Adrianna's good side. A surely impossible task, if his track record of bodily harm—both _to_ her and _from_ her—was anything to go by.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The library was relatively empty as Stiles rummaged through the shelves, pretending to be exceedingly busy as Scott simply stood beside him, waiting for Allison to arrive and tell them what she'd found out from the translation of the bestiary, thanks to Lydia's many hidden talents.

“Would you just--” He failed to explain himself, gesturing around at all the other people reading, stacking books and taking them off the shelves. “Look less conspicuous.” He decided on, just as Allison's shadow appeared on the opposite side of their shelf.

“It's everything Lydia can translate and trust me,” She told them, slipping a tablet between miscellaneous books for Scott to snatch before Stiles had the chance. “She was very confused.”

Turning on the screen and scrolling through the bestiary, along with the notes clipped onto the side in actual, legible English— _thank god_ —Scott tilted the black device once he'd finished skimming so that Stiles could read. “Yeah, what'd you tell her?” He asked as Stiles concentrated on the many words jumbling inside his brain in coherent, probably easy to remember files.

Leaning closer to the shelf, Allison parted some of the books at eye level so she could see both Scott and Stiles, who'd stashed the tablet in his backpack already. “That we were a part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures.” She sheepishly explained, extracting a book and idly flipping through the pages for the sake of the cameras installed in every room of the school.

Raising his brows as Scott appeared too embarrassed or shocked to respond, Stiles neared the shelf and whispered as quietly as he could. “I am a part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures.” As factually as he could without geeking out on his friends.

“O-oh.” Allison stuttered, taken off guard by what he'd just shared. “Great.” She added, looking over her shoulder for a moment as though she felt like someone was watching her. “It was actually Adrianna's idea.” She shared.

“Adrianna helped you to translate the bestiary?” Stiles raised his voice, cringing as Scott slapped his arm with more force than necessary to get him to shut up. “Why didn't anyone believe me when I told you she admitted to knowing Latin?” He asked, mainly to himself. “You were there.” He reminded Scott.

“That doesn't matter.” Scott informed him, something in his posture betraying his anger towards the huntress, even when she appeared in their conversations.

“You're right,” Allison agreed from her side of the shelf. “And she didn't stay long enough to translate anything. She just made an excuse for me so that Lydia would do it, before leaving.” Allison directed at Stiles, whose shoulders had sunk in slight defeat.

“Okay,” He changed the subject before he felt the need to roll his eyes and make more sarcastic comments. “Does the bestiary say how to find out who's controlling him?” He asked, remembering what he'd read and the lack of such information within.

Shaking her head, Allison sadly replied, “Not really.” Then her tone changed into one of grudging admission. “But Stiles was right about the murderers.” She said, meeting eyes with him for a moment through the books that separated them.

“Yes!” He cheered, pumping his fists and grinning like a fool. 'I told you so' was sitting on the base of his tongue but remained unspoken as he saw Scott's frantic expression demanding he be quieter.

“It calls the Kanima a weapon of vengeance.” Allison continued in reference to the bestiary. “There's a story in there about this South American priest who uses the Kanima to execute murderers in his village—”

“Alright, see?” Stiles interrupted, trying his best to be optimistic when everything inside him was terrified stiff of the creature Jackson had become. “So maybe it's not all that bad.” 

“Until the bond grew strong enough that it killed whoever he wanted it to.” Allison finished heavily. Even she seemed to want to believe Jackson wasn't a cold-blooded murderer.

“All bad, all very, very bad.” Stiles muttered to himself, wondering how he'd gotten into such a mess in the first place.

“Here's the thing, though.” Allison pointed out, switching her book to appear busy. “The Kanima's actually supposed to be a werewolf. But it can't be—” She explained, only to be cut off once more, this time by Scott.

Scott quoted the bestiary word for word, which was rather impressive to Stiles as he knew his best friend had trouble with memorization. “'Until it resolves that in its past which manifested it.'” He said.

“Okay,” Stiles expounded, aware that the mental energy it took Scott to remember the words would mean he didn't have enough left to understand them. “If that means that Jackson could use a few thousand hours of therapy, I could've told you that myself.”

“What if—” Allison hesitantly theorized, getting closer to the shelf so they could hear her as her voice dropped. “It has something to do with his parents? His real parents.” She explained.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded in acceptance of her idea. “Does anybody actually know what happened to them?” He wondered.

“Lydia might.” Stiles pointed out, although it still pained him to think about her closeness to the foul, arrogant, murdering, lizard-like Jackson.

Furrowing his brow, Scott twisted his lip awkwardly, in the way he usually did when thinking up the worst case scenario possible. “What if she doesn't know anything?” He delivered exactly as Stiles had thought. _There's not an optimistic bone in that boy's body,_ Stiles concluded.

“Well, he doesn't have a restraining order against me,” Allison reminded them both. “So—I'll talk to him myself.” She reasoned.

“Okay, what do I do?” Scott asked, seemingly only then realizing that he hadn't actually been given anything to do.

Ducking her head, Allison's hand slipped between the books and grabbed hold of Scott's tightly. “You have a make-up exam, remember?” She told him, understanding that he wasn't likely to show up with all the other, very important things going on without him. “Promise me.” She nearly demanded and it was then that Stiles could see the love she had for his friend.

Dipping his chin somberly, Scott reluctantly nodded. “If he does anything,” He explained to her. “You run the other way.”

Sighing in slight exasperation, Allison's hand squeezed Scott's before letting go. “I can take care of myself.” She repeated what she'd been insisting for a while now.

“Allison, if you get hurt while I'm busy with some stupid test,” Scott urged desperately. “Someone's going to need to take care of me. If he does anything—” He repeated.

“Like?” Allison didn't let him finish. She was trying to hide her frustration but Stiles saw it clear as day. The way her brows furrowed and her lips pressed together; she was a lot like her cousin that way, although Adrianna had somehow learned how to hide her emotions better.

“Anything—weird or bizarre.” Scott supplied unhelpfully. “Anything.” He cemented, grasping for a better way to express his concern.

“Anything evil!” Stiles finally settled on butting in, his head slotting between the books in the shelf and popping out on Allison's side. “Ah, ow!” He indignantly cried as Scott pulled him back by the collar of his shirt.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Stiles glared at Scott as Allison reluctantly agreed before walking back the way she'd came out of the library. “What'd you do that for?” He asked the shaggy-haired boy.

Raising one brow, Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “What?” Stiles cried, drawing the attention of nearly everyone near their aisle with his tone of voice. “You know I have a point.” He whispered, ducking his head to try to seem inconspicuous. “Jackson _is_ kinda—”

“Evil?” Scott finished for him, finally snatching a book nearby and flipping through the pages to fit in. “Yeah, I know.” He admitted gruffly. “I just hope Allison knows it too.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

He saw her at the end of the hall, leaning her body against the double doors that led to the library. Her ear was pressed to the wood, as though she was listening to someone inside, before she hastily ducked away, slipping into the crowd of students as though she'd been there the whole time.

It was only when the very same doors opened to reveal Allison Argent, Adrianna's cousin, that Isaac realized what she'd been doing—or rather—who she'd been spying on. He quickened his pace to keep up with her, but made sure to stay a few paces back so that she wouldn't notice him until he wanted her to.

Adrianna walked briskly in the opposite direction her cousin had, keeping her head low and adjusting her bag on her shoulder every few minutes. As Isaac followed her down a corridor he knew led to the gym, he hesitated at a bend in her path. He couldn't see her anymore, nor could he hear her, so he assumed she'd made a run for it inside the gym.

Making his mind up as fast as he could, Isaac took off in a sprint after her, rounding the corner at reckless speeds and tripping straight over an outstretched combat boot. His jaw made contact with the floor and pain blossomed where he knew from experience that he'd fractured the bone.

Groaning as Adrianna landed a kick to his ribs before lowering herself over him with a knife to his throat, Isaac considered the fact that his luck was terrible and that Adrianna Argent quite possibly lived for the sole intention of punishing and taunting him.

“Hello again, handsome.” She purred seductively, her hair hanging between them like a curtain of molten gold in all kinds of honey shades. “You wanna tell me what you're doing following me?” She asked more seriously.

The blade under his chin stopped him from swallowing too thickly so he settled for clearing his throat instead. “Um,” He tried to search for an excuse in the darkness of the unlit, tile corridor. “I just wanted to—see your pretty face again?” He ended up asking instead of telling. When it came to Adrianna, all his skills of lying and deceit seemed to evaporate into thin air.

“Flattery won't make me leave you alone,” She shared grudgingly, getting off of him and extending him a hand. “But it will get you off the floor.”

Isaac stared at her outstretched hand distrustfully, glancing between it and her repeatedly, trying to gauge whether she was trapping him— _again._ Rolling her eyes at his delay, Adrianna breached the space between them, weaving her fingers through his, and pulled him to his feet.

“You see, I wasn't going to hurt you.” She pointed out, dusting off her hands on her jeans. “At least, not anymore than I have to.” Adrianna added, winking slyly.

Baffled by her playful mood, Isaac took a step back to distance himself from her. He'd seen this side of her many times before—when they'd tested Lydia and after, when they'd fought in McCall's house—but it never made it any easier for him to wrap his head around.

“Ah,” Adrianna fondly exclaimed, twirling the blade she'd taken off him during the very same fight he'd just thought of, and slipping it into the waist of her jeans. “Cat got your tongue?” She teased, giggling like a school-girl.

Isaac felt his cheeks heat up and he ducked his head to try to hide the blush. His overbearing height made it hard for him to make himself less noticeable, but it had never stopped him from trying.

Adrianna's eyebrows rose as she took note of the change in his skin tone, but, unlike what he thought she'd do, Adrianna didn't bother to tease him verbally; settling for a tight-lipped smile that tucked away all her thoughts from him.

“So,” She continued, mercifully changing the subject away from where they'd been headed. “Why were you following me?”

Rolling his shoulders back and reminding himself that he didn't have to be afraid of anyone anymore—not now that he was a werewolf—Isaac licked his lips before taking a stronger stance across from Adrianna.

“Actually,” His tone matched hers in both confidence and lightness. “I think I'll be the one asking the questions, _sweetheart_.” He added for good measure, already feeling more in control of the situation. 

Brows rising high with her surprise, the right side of Adrianna's blood-red lips rose in a half-smirk as she waved her hand at him in encouragement. “By all means, take the lead.” She told him as the bell rung for their next class before lunch. Neither of them paid it any mind.

“Who is the Kanima?” He asked her, running a hand through his curly, disheveled hair to try to return it to some semblance of order.

Narrowing her eyes, Adrianna cocked her head to the side, intrigued. “Really?” She wondered. “Is that it? That's what you want to know?” She asked, groaning suddenly. “Come on Isaac, be a little more original. Everyone wants to know that and there isn't a chance in Tartarus that I'll tell you, before I tell someone else.”

The use of his actual name made a nervous pit form in his stomach. He was curious what the other word she'd used meant. A distant memory told him he'd heard of it before, perhaps in history class or in a modern arts textbook, but he couldn't quite place it's meaning, besides that it was incredibly old and barely used.

“So do you know who it is, or not?” He found himself saying, shaking off his confusion with a sharp, metallic pang of anger. He felt his nails sharpening into claws at his sides.

“I do.” Adrianna admitted, pushing most of her hair over her shoulder and out of her way. “But before I even think about telling you, I want to know what you'll do with the information.” She told him, leaning against the wall behind her as he took a step towards her.

“Do you plan on using it to kill whoever the Kanima is in human form?” She demanded of him, her voice taking on a protective note. “Or do you plan on saving them?” She finished, narrowing her gaze on him until Isaac felt physically drained.

“You've met Derek, right?” He smartly quipped. “Isn't it obvious which one he'll want to do?” Isaac asked her, copying the tilt of his head to what she'd done previous. The space between their chests was rapidly shrinking without Isaac even noticing that he was the one advancing.

“Well then, I guess you've got your answer.” Adrianna breathed, staring up at him with determination in her verdant irises as she regulated her breathing so as not to accidentally touch him, he was so close. “I won't let you kill the human behind the Kanima. They don't even know what they're doing.”

His expression scrunched in frustration as he placed his hand over each of Adrianna's shoulders. For a girl, she was actually pretty tall; the top of her head coming to about his chin. “It's killed people.” He reminded her, his face lowering so that their eyes were level and crystal blue stared into emerald green. “It's going to keep killing them until someone stops it.”

If he hadn't been touching her, Isaac wouldn't have felt the shudder that ran through Adrianna's body, but he did. Her head turned away from his abruptly, looking out into the deserted hallway they'd branched off from as though she heard something or someone coming near. The blood seemed to drain from her face the longer she stared in that direction and Isaac felt a strange concern for her making itself known in his heart.

“Adrianna?” He quietly tried to regain her attention, lifting his now clawless fingers to her cheek and stroking the soft skin there. From this distance, he could see that she had black circles around her eyes and red rimming the lids. He wanted to ask her if she okay, _really okay_ , but before he could, her face turned back to his and she hurriedly blinked away the tears that'd collected in her eyes.

“I know that.” She replied, her forehead wrinkling along with her emotional restraint. “Better than anyone, I know.” Adrianna seemed to mournfully declare, pushing his hands away from her with her own, clammy ones.

Straightening her jacket, Isaac placed a hand against the wall to steady his suddenly weakened knees. “I'm sorry.” She told him as she made her way back out into the main hallway.

“For what?” He called over to her, genuine confusion lilting in his voice. He wasn't sure if she was apologizing for not telling him who the Kanima was, for attacking him every time they met, or for nearly killing him two days ago.

Walking backwards, Adrianna's brows furrowed as she tried to puzzle out his question. “For taking away your strength, without asking.” She explained as though he should have already known it. “Don't you remember?”

Nodding his head, Isaac watched her as she pressed her lips together, unsatisfied by his answer, before leaving him alone in the passageway. There weren't any cameras around him, in the dark, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it himself.

At the back of his mind, Adrianna's apology niggled his thoughts. He _didn't_ remember what she'd done to him that night. Despite what he'd told her, he only recalled that he'd nearly died and woken up the next day feeling weaker than he ever had as a human.

The idea that Adrianna Argent was hiding something more than just the identity of the Kanima seemed more plausible than ever.

 _Maybe she's not as vulnerable as I think she is_ , He pondered as he walked to his next class. Another question hid beneath the first, but he was too afraid of what it might mean to phrase it, even to himself, because if Adrianna wasn't human, then what could she be?

**#-#-#-#-#**

Nearly jogging to keep up with Lydia, who was surprisingly fast in her five inch heels, Stiles hiked his backpack higher over his shoulder and, ignoring the curious stares of all the other students as they migrated through the school to their next classes, asked the question he'd been trying to phrase since getting out of English.

“Hey Lydia,” He started, despite the fact that he was sure she was sure that he was behind her. “You wouldn't happen to know what happened to Jackson's birth parents?”

Other than a brief stutter in her steps, Lydia showed no indication that the question meant anything to her. Lifting her chin high as Stiles put on a burst of speed to reach her side, Lydia smiled in her own, condescending way, before replying.

“I'm not supposed to tell anyone.” She informed Stiles, who raised his hands dramatically in response.

“Come on,” He pleaded. “Anyone who ever says 'I'm not supposed to tell anyone' is always dying to tell someone,” He pointed out. “So tell me!”

Heels clacking against the tiled floor with more force than before, Lydia looked at him with a brow raised. “Why do you want to know?” She wondered.

Sighing, Stiles grimaced as the answer to her question presented itself to him immediately. “I can't tell you that.” He admitted guiltily.

Narrowing her eyes contemptively, Lydia haughtily threw her hair over her shoulder and Stiles was distracted for a moment by the strawberry vanilla scent. “Then I'm not telling you.” She chirped back at him, bringing him out of his daydream.

“But you are telling me that you could tell me something if you wanted to tell me?” He blurted the first thing on his mind, frowning as he tried to make sense out of it.

“Was that a question?” Lydia asked him, clearly just as confused as he was.

“It felt like a question.” Stiles shared uncertainly, twisting his lips as he hoped that Lydia would just tell him what he wanted to know without making an even bigger fuss.

“Well—” The strawberry blonde settled on saying, recovering from Stiles' mind-boggling declaration in record time. “Tell me if this feels like an answer.” She retorted, raising her eyes to the ceiling tiles above her.

“No.” Her glossed lips formed the word as she took the stairs in front of her two steps at a time, leaving Stiles behind, fighting his way through the crowds of rushed, stampeding high school students to get to her.

“Lydia!” He called, desperately elbowing and pushing anyone in his way. “Lydia, come on! Lydia—wait!” Stiles shouted, abruptly getting plowed into by someone his height and Arnold Schwarzenneger's strength, into the wall behind him.

“Ow!” He complained as Erica clamped her hand around his neck and pressed it to the wall. “Ah, ah, hey Erica.” He whimpered, scrunching his face as her long fingernails dug into his skin. He was glad she hadn't chosen to skewer him with her claws—at least—not yet.

“Why are you asking Lydia about Jackson's real parents?” She interrogated, laying her spare hand on his chest and extending her very sharp claws at an angle that would permit her to dig his heart out, if she wanted to.

“Why are you bringing out the claws on camera?” He retorted, pointedly glancing at the overhead surveillance which happened to be looking straight at them. “That's right.” He taunted as Erica's expression became pinched and her claws retracted. “You wanna play Catwoman? I'll be your Batman.”

Narrowing her gaze on him, Erica pushed him once more into the wall for good measure before backing off. “If you're wondering about Jackson's real parents,” She told him, already beginning to get lost in the crowd. “They're about half a mile from here, in Beacon Hill's cemetery.”

Following after Erica, Stiles nearly tripped over his feet as he caught up to her, feeling a profound sense of deja-vu as he trailed behind a pretty girl that wanted nothing to do with him, asking questions she wasn't likely to answer.

“Do you know how they died.” He asked even though he was nearly certain that Erica wouldn't tell him, even if she did know.

“Maybe.” She settled for answering, which was better than a no but not as good as a yes. “If you tell me why you're so interested.” She countered.

So she wanted to exchange information. Eyes widening as she stared directly at him, waiting for an answer, Stiles felt panic infiltrate into his brain and make his thoughts fuzzy and unclear. “Um,” He tried to buy time as he frantically searched for a way to lie to Erica.

Tilting her head to the side and lifting her lips into a knowing smirk, Erica turned away from him to keep walking. “It's him, isn't it?” She pieced together out loud as Stiles flew after her.

“What?” His voice rose in pitch. “Who? Him who?” He unconvincingly played for innocence.

“The test didn't work, but it's still him.” Erica said with conviction, quickening her strides. “It's Jackson.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“I don't think you understand what I'm trying to tell you,” Adrianna repeated as Jackson Whittemore once more tried to get past her to grab a towel. “When I say, 'you're in danger', I don't mean that a couple of inexperienced teenagers are going to kidnap you in a stolen prison van.” She ominously told him.

“Well,” Jackson mockingly smiled, turning the tap behind him to it's hottest setting so that the showers filled with steam. “What exactly _do_ you mean?”

“I mean that once Derek finds out what you are, my grandfather is sure to follow, and when that happens you are utterly dead.” She snapped. “Gerard will skin you alive and electrocute your insides until there's nothing left of you but a mass of grisly looking hamburger meat.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson rolled his eyes, no longer bothering with hiding his body as it was clear that Adrianna wasn't interested. “I heard you, I get it.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Can I finish my shower now?”

Puffing air out of her nostrils in the way Adrianna knew drakons did, she lost control over her temper as the boy mocked her with his eyes, reaching out and digging her fingernails around his throat before catapulting him into the wall. He slid to the floor, staring at her in both surprise and outrage.

“What the hell?” He screeched, standing to his wobbly feet. “You could have killed me!”

“You're not listening to me.” She roared, roughly shoving her hands through her damp hair and pressing her fingers to her pounding temples. “I'm trying to save you.” Adrianna nearly moaned, shrugging off her leather jacket and stripping out of her thin tank top.

Jackson's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her nearly naked torso, save for a thin, lacy bra. Scars decorated the skin on her ribs, chest and shoulders. Digging her fingernails into the mass of damaged tissue, Adrianna's expression became vulnerable the longer Jackson stared at her.

“These aren't all from hunting.” She shared with him, her voice cracking. Tracing the outline of a jagged white line she'd gotten on her fifteenth birthday, Adrianna bit back her anger in order to explain herself to Jackson. “Some of these—” Clearing her throat and pressing her eyes closed to stop the flow of tears, Adrianna tried to speak again, this time with more success.

“Some of these were punishments carved by the hands of men.” She licked her lips, coming to stand closer to Jackson so he could see the damage more clearly. “If Gerard is willing to do this to me, his own kin, what do you think he's gonna do to you?”

Jackson's throat bobbed as realization finally sunk in, after nearly twenty minutes of screaming and bartering at a brick wall, of the situation he was in. “But—I don't understand.” The boy stuttered, his fingers gliding over a set of scars shaped like prongs beneath her left rib-cage. “On the full moon, nothing happened. I didn't turn or transform. I'm not what all of you think I am.” He desperately tried to convince her.

Shaking her head, Adrianna's hand wrapped around Jackson's as delicately as she dared. A static shock tingled in her fingers and blackish purple veins spread over the top of her hand to Jackson's arm. Faded memories of his parent's graves, the heartbreaking realization that the adults he lived with weren't his blood at all, and distorted terrors witnessed from inside his mother's womb all became her own.

Gasping, Adrianna detached herself from Jackson, taking a step away from him as her mind raced. Jackson too seemed to have felt the exchange of memories, as his eyes betrayed his anger and fear.

“What did you do to me?” He asked her, wringing out his arm as though he was in pain. “I didn't even remember some of that stuff.” He shared with her, albeit, grudgingly.

“I'm not what I seem to be either, Jackson.” Adrianna entailed his earlier statement into her confession but Jackson shook his head vehemently, refusing to believe that he was the Kanima.

“No,” He narrowed his eyes on her. “I don't care what you know about your grandfather's torture techniques, I am not the one he wants.” Jackson pronounced with commitment.

“Then you're an even bigger moron than I first thought.” Adrianna spat back, her desperation to save him clouding her ability to filter her thoughts. In the distance, the ringing, keening wail of a newborn split her concentration and added to the pounding of her temples. All day, the same cry had wormed its way into her skull and rattled her nerves.

Placing both hands over her ears, Adrianna felt tears welling in her eyes as she became overwhelmed by the noise. “Shut it up!” She cried as hands wrapped around her biceps and held her steady. “It's too loud, I can't think anymore.” She groaned, collapsing against a solid chest she barely understood to be Jackson's.

“Okay, just calm down.” He instructed her in a soothing voice. This was the part of him she wanted to save, the part she had always known existed even before he'd shown it to her because he was nearly an exact replica of her, when it came down to it. Both of them knew what it was like to be abandoned, even if they dealt with it in different ways.

The longer she focused on Jackson's voice and the life thrumming through his veins, the less intense the child's screams became until finally, they faded into the background and out of her hearing range.

“Jackson?” A familiar voice echoed through the locker rooms that led into the showers. It belonged to Allison and Adrianna hardly had a moment to remember that she'd overheard her cousin planning to speak with Jackson, before the boy still clutching her tightly replied.

“In here.” He called out, something changing in his voice as his body stiffened beside hers. His arms wound tighter still, like a vice, restraining her where she was even as she tried to break free.

Allison rounded the corner, then, and quickly averted her gaze when she saw the state Jackson was in. “Is something wrong?” He wondered, his tone becoming almost slippery in nature.

“Y-you could've warned me.” Allison complained, steeling herself to look at Jackson's eyes and nothing else. Adrianna shoved against Jackson's chest as hard as she dared without breaking one of his ribs, but he didn't let her go.

“Um,” Her cousin swallowed, obviously surprised that Adrianna was there. “What's going on?” She hesitantly asked, glancing between Jackson and her, then over to Adrianna's abandoned jacket and shirt.

Jaw hanging open like a blowfish, Adrianna struggled to find a way to explain why she and Jackson were hugging, him naked and her shirtless, in the boy's showers. “This isn't what you think it is.” She pleaded with her cousin to understand, frantically trying to detach herself from the stubborn Jackson.

“You're the one that walked into the boy's locker room.” Jackson chose that moment to respond to Allison's first objection, sliding his hand further down Adrianna's back as he grinned arrogantly. “And yes, this is exactly what you think it is.” He overrode Adrianna's attempts to tell the truth.

“I thought I heard yelling—I thought—” Allison faltered, cheeks growing pink. “Forget it.” She declared, turning her back on them just as Adrianna's heel slammed down over Jackson's foot and his hand returned to its original position.

“Did you wanna talk about something?” He casually reflected, cracking his neck and glaring at Adrianna as she continued to try to free herself. There was something wrong with him. Similar to the way a werewolf lost control on a full moon, Jackson didn't seem to be present in the face or actions of the boy pressed closely to her.

“We can talk later.” Allison haltingly excused, already beginning to walk out of the shower's and into the locker room.

“No,” Jackson disputed, sinking claws into Adrianna's arm and dragging her behind him as he chased after Allison. “Let's talk now.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Scott was fairly certain that he'd failed his make-up Chemistry test because of Allison's stampeding heart beat, but the moment he barged into the boy's locker room and saw Allison on her knees and Jackson hurriedly pulling on shorts, all thoughts of his final grade seemed irrelevant.

“I—I'm fine. I'm fine.” Allison frantically tried to sway him as she placed her hands under her and scrambled to her feet. “Scott, I'm fine.” She insisted.

Across the locker room, Scott's attention diverged from where it was trained on Jackson, over to one of the far walls. Blackish blood dripped from the girl's nose as she sat against the wall, her head resting on an immense crater in the tiles behind her—supposedly where her skull had made contact with the wall. Adrianna groaned as her eyes met his and for the first time since she'd stabbed him, Scott didn't feel hatred towards her.

Of course, that might have just been because he was directing all of his anger towards Jackson, who was standing back with his arms spread wide in front of him, in nothing but a pair of borrowed basketball shorts.

Fuming, Scott charged at Jackson, not caring that he could possibly hurt the teenager if his Kanima strength didn't translate to his human form. Ramming shoulders first into Jackson's chest, Scott felt a sick sort of pleasure as Jackson collided with the lockers and lay there, splayed over the toppled metal cubes, glaring angrily.

“I have a restraining order!” Jackson yelled and Scott didn't even think about the lack of physical damage he'd managed to inflict on him.

Breathing heavily and making certain to stand in front of Allison protectively, Scott felt himself smirking as the sudden urge to maim and kill Jackson nearly overtook him. “Trust me,” He mocked the boy. “I restrained myself.”

Grunting deep in his throat, Jackson threw himself at Scott, rising to the werewolf's bait easily and struggling for dominance in a fight that was surprisingly equal for both sides.

Crashing into the locker's, Scott barely had time to recover as Jackson grabbed hold of his sweater and pulled him into the showers, knocking his head against the tiles repeatedly. Scott was still shocked by the strength Jackson possessed, but he was able to push back with all his might and gain some leverage against the human Kanima.

Slamming his knee into Jackson's stomach and throwing the boy down onto the ground, Scott grinned proudly, only to be flown straight into a set of stainless steel taps behind him as Jackson rose to his feet. His back ached from the impact and when he tried to pick himself up off the slippery floor, his hands were slashed open by the chunks of broken tile beneath him.

Turning his back on Scott, Jackson stalked out of the showers, into the locker room, straight for Allison. Though his blood was carried by the water spraying all around the room, and circled the drain, shortly before dropping into it, Scott felt anger reigniting in his gut and it gave him the strength to stand.

Vaulting himself over the top of one of the shower's walls, Scott landed a kick mid-air to Jackson's head. He fell at the same rate as Scott did, crawling across the locker's floors as Scott towered over him threateningly.

Taking hold a weight from nearby, Jackson threw the metal plate at Scott like a Frisbee and the werewolf only had a split second to duck and catch the weight that was overhead, in order to avoid being knocked out.

Now with the weapon in his hands, Scott struggled to shifted his grip over the five pounds of steel and Jackson used Scott's distraction to his advantage, kicking him in the stomach and unbalancing him. Scott crashed into the wall behind him and Jackson's hands wrapped around his neck, throwing him into the nearby sinks and shattering porcelain everywhere.

His head ached terribly each time it collided with a sink and the water jettisoned across the room, onto his clothes and into his eyes, didn't help him whatsoever as he tried to regain the upper hand. Thankfully, it seemed he wasn't entirely alone in this fight.

A sharp looking silver blade protruded from Jackson's side, just missing his internal organs but obviously still very painful as he screeched in agony, whirling on Adrianna and using his momentum to slap her with a closed fist across the face.

The huntress stumbled on her feet but stayed upright and Scott took that as a cue for him to rejoin the fight from where he'd been sitting in a puddle of water, shaking his head to rid himself of the dizziness that had overtaken him.

Standing, Scott barreled straight into the other boy's back, wrapping his arms around Jackson and holding tight as Adrianna smirked and began slashing at Jackson's exposed flesh. Blood sprayed across her face and stained her hands. Scott began to wonder if she'd killed Jackson, by how still he'd gone.

“Stop!” He cried, now holding up Jackson as opposed to restraining him. “You're killing him.” He tried to reason with her.

The same black blood he'd noticed earlier pooled just beneath her skin in a nasty bruise that swelled the side of her skull. Her lip was split in one place, seeping the ominous substance, and her pale complexion almost made her look like a ghost, reborn from the dead.

Scott knew Stiles would tease him about watching one too many horror flicks, but his observations were only solidified when Adrianna smiled manically, seemingly in a trance-like state, before telling him seriously. “No, not yet.”

The door to the locker's was suddenly pushed open to reveal Erica and Stiles, who regarded the sight of an unconscious Jackson with wary eyes. The water still gushing from the snapped pipes around the room had already done it's job of cleaning all the blood from Jackson and Adrianna, but that wouldn't save either of them from the truth.

Knife still gripped in her right hand, Adrianna twirled the blade and sheathed it in the back of her pants as the slashes she'd carved into Jackson's chest began to heal. If Derek hadn't known that Jackson was the Kanima, now he certainly did, Scott surmised as Erica's eyebrows rose and her lips settled into a frown.

“You're late for the party.” Adrianna quipped, wobbling unsteadily and using the nearby lockers to prevent herself from falling. Allison joined her side, slinging an arm around her cousin's shoulder and helping her to follow the others as they exited the soaked locker room, only to run into a very angry Mr. Harris.

From out of nowhere, Jackson careened straight for them, sliding into Scott and tackling him. He appeared unharmed, despite the near-fatal damage Scott had seen Adrianna deal on him, and his fists slammed into the werewolf's chest with a fury he hadn't expected. Erica, the only one out of them with the strength and reflexes needed to react, grabbed onto Jackson and pulled him aside, restraining him in a similar fashion to how Scott had, only moments before.

“What the hell's going on?” The flabbergasted teacher demanded as Jackson attempted to claw his way back to Scott. “Hey! Enough! Enough.” He yelled, halting the other boy's aggression as he came to his senses.

“What do you idiots think you're doing?”Mr. Harris questioned them, playing no favourites as he chastised Jackson for worming out of Erica's grip and heading for Scott. “Jackson! Calm down!” He shouted, his face turning red.

“Mr. McCall, you wanna explain yourself?” He wondered as Scott only then noticed that the door had been left open to the wrecked locker room. “Stilinski!” Harris opted for instead, as Scott found his tongue caught.

“You dropped this.” A boy Scott vaguely remembered was called Matt, told Stiles as he handed him the tablet they'd used to translate the bestiary.

“You and you—” The science teacher pointed to Jackson and Scott, pausing as he stared at the disobedient teens thoughtfully. “Actually, all of you,” He corrected smugly. “Detention; three o'clock.”

“Sorry,” Adrianna piped up as Scott was just coming to terms with the total loss of his afternoon. “I won't be able to make it.” She excused, smilingly predatorily at their teacher. “Family matters to attend to.” Adrianna grinned, raising one brow at Mr. Harris as he gaped at her.

“That won't be a problem,” She sarcastically voiced as Allison stared at her from where she'd migrated to Scott's side. “Will it?”

A moment of tense, disbelieving silence preluded Mr. Harris' succinct nod and it was clear by the expression on nearly everyone's faces, that no one had thought Adrianna would be able to get out of detention.

Raising his hand timidly, Stiles decided to test his luck and Scott cringed in sympathy for him as Mr. Harris glared at him, before shaking his head. “No one else will be permitted to avoid detention.” He told them sternly. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Stiles mumbled as he met Scott's confused gaze with grim certainty.

Stiles had a theory about Adrianna, Scott knew, but until he heard it, he wasn't willing to jump to any conclusion. For now, he'd attribute the strange occurrences surrounding her as of late, to luck.

But even he didn't believe that a person could be as lucky as she'd been. Not when he's seen her bleed black.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The only reason Erica hadn't ditched her detention and run to tell Derek what she'd found out was because of what had happened between Jackson, Scott and Adrianna. Although the huntress had been kind to her since the beginning, even helping to save her when she'd fallen off the rock wall trying to prove her admittedly absent strength, Adrianna had been protecting her.

Which was why, despite how much she claimed to hate her—which was really just a ploy to try to get Isaac not to think about her too much, or get involved in an even bigger mess than he was already in, having been suspected of murdering his father for some time—she couldn't understand why she'd ripped Jackson to shreds and why he didn't seem to remember it.

As she tilted her head, covertly listening in to Scott and Stiles' conversation theorizing who could be controlling the Kanima, with the main suggestion being Matt Daehler, Erica remembered how she'd foolishly confessed her long-time crush on Stiles, to Stiles, only moments before they'd been dealt a detention by Harris.

If she'd been any less confident in herself, she might have blushed and refused to ever be seen in a twenty meter radius of the boy, but she wasn't, so, reminding herself that she was beautiful, desired, and stronger than she'd ever been, Erica promised herself that she wouldn't avoid either of them if they approached her, which they were sure to do if the way Stiles was glancing at her meant anything.

“You okay?” Matt asked Jackson, who she'd only just noticed was clutching his head as though he had a nasty headache. Her curiosity peaked and, from her empty table, Erica watched as Jackson picked up his backpack and uttered a half-hearted excuse.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” He told Matt and Allison, who both appeared concerned for his well-being. Erica just wanted to know if it had something to do with what the huntress, Adrianna, had done to him. She was still trying to figure out what she'd done to Isaac and the shared symptoms, loss of memory, extreme fatigue and an overworking heart, matched up enough for her to want to look into it further.

“Are you alright?” Harris stood from his desk as Jackson tried to escape the library stealthily. “Hey, you don't look so good.” He pointed out, also worried. Erica rolled her eyes, turning in her chair so that she could keep her eyes on Jackson.

“I just need to get some water.” Jackson replied stuffily, wincing as he grasped his head again.

Nodding his affirmation, Harris trailed behind Jackson to the exit. “No one leaves their seats.” He warned them before disappearing through the door, following Jackson to assure that the boy didn't do something like feint.

As soon as Harris was out of her earshot, Stiles and Scott jumped out of their seats and slipped into the vacant chairs beside and across from her. Smirking at her correct assumption, Erica crossed her arms and leaned back as Scott pushed himself near the edge of his seat with his hands on the desk.

“Stiles says you know how Jackson's parents died.” He stated questioningly, raising his brows for her to answer.

“Maybe.” She replied ambiguously, picking at her cuticles as Stiles widened his eyes exponentially in his frustration. That had been something she'd always liked about him—he didn't hide what he was feeling—she wasn't certain that he could even if he wanted to.

“Talk.” Scott demanded more forcefully and she decided that she'd played with them enough. If they wanted information from her, maybe she could get some from them in return.

“It was a car accident.” She shared grimly. “My dad was the insurance investigator and every time he sees Jackson drive by in his Porsche, he makes some comments about the huge settlement he'll be getting when he's eighteen.”

Pulling a hand down his face, Stiles balked as he tried to wrap his mind around the injustice she'd just told him. “So not only is Jackson rich now,” He phrased bitterly. “But he's getting even richer at eighteen?”

“Yep.” Erica agreed, smacking her lips together in just as much distaste as the others. Bad people always tended to have the best luck, she'd come to realize.

“There's something so deeply wrong with that.” Stiles complained as Scott shook his head, already having moved onto more important matters.

“You know what?” Erica helpfully suggested, pulling her cherry red laptop out from under her seat. “I could try to find the insurance report on my dad's inbox. He keeps everything.”

Overhead, the school speaker's screeched to life, demanding in a punctual, business-like voice, “Scott McCall, please report to the Principal's office.” Without more than a confused look directed at Stiles, Scott got up and left the library while Erica continued to search through piles of mail. She hoped it was worth it.

“Wait, look at the dates.” Stiles pointed out after a few minutes of expanding documents that she didn't need and slowly losing all of her aspirations for learning more about Jackson and consequently, the Kanima.

Scrolling down and highlighting where Stiles had directed her, Erica moved closer to the screen as she read the insurance report that happened to be exactly what she'd been looking for. “'Passengers arrived at the hospital DOA.'” She dictated. “The estimated time of death; nine twenty-six pm., June fourteenth, nineteen ninety-five.”

“Jackson's birthday is June fifteenth.” Stiles cautiously told her, the cogs in his mind obviously whirring as he silently read the remainder of the document, trying to figure out why Jackson's parents dying a day before he was born via caesarean section, mattered to the Kanima.

“Oh, no, I'm sorry.” Mr. Harris told them once he and Jackson had been sitting back at their seats for a while. “Uh, yes, I'm leaving.” He explained, gesturing towards his packed leather satchel. “But none of you are. You may go when you're done with the re-shelving.” He taunted, smiling as Erica and a few others grudgingly set down their things once more.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Harris cheered, slamming the door on his way out.

Sighing heavily, Erica wheeled a random cart filled to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes, and genres, into a nearby aisle and began sorting the books back onto the shelves. Across from her, she heard Stiles, Scott, and Allison whispering to each other in hushed tones about what she and Stiles had learned.

They were wondering if his parents had been murdered and whether that was the reason Jackson had become the Kanima, which was apparently a creature that sought out and killed murderers. Erica looked around as the lights flickered above, but shook off the pit in her stomach as nothing more than nerves attributed to her earlier confession to Stiles.

Later, she would realize that she should have listened to her gut instinct.

A hissing noise split the air a few shelves down from her and a moment later, it was right behind her. She hurriedly turned to defend herself but the Kanima was too strong, blocking her feeble attack easily and slicing the back of her neck with it's tail.

Erica dropped to the floor as one by one, the shelves toppled over. She heard crashing and saw the fluorescent bulbs overhead shattering, sparks flying every which way. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the mayhem ended. It felt like the eye of a storm, as though the danger wasn't over yet.

Tilting her neck as much as it would allow, Erica bit her lip as her body began to tingle and only had enough time to wonder why Jackson, half-transformed into the Kanima, was scrawling a warning on the chalkboard, before the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and her body jostled violently in a seizure she'd thought she'd never have to experience again.

“Erica!” She distantly heard someone calling as Scott knelt down next to her and Stiles held her body as steady as he could.

“Whoa, hey, hey, hey, hey!” Stiles panicked, trying and failing to halt the spastic shaking. “I think she's having a seizure.” He realized frantically as pain blossomed behind her neck and begun to burn her veins.

“Hey, we need to get her to a hospital.” Stiles told the fuzzy shape on her right which she could only guess to be Scott.

Reaching her hand out blindly, Erica tightened her jaw into a vice and tried her best to speak without biting through her tongue. “To Derek.” She informed them desperately. “Only to Derek.”

As Scott argued with Allison a few feet away, Erica concentrated on trying to trigger her werewolf abilities, but every time she so much as twitched her stiff fingers, pain ricocheted across her rigid spine.

“Hang on.” She remembered Stiles telling her as Scott loaded her into the back of his jeep and they took off at daring speeds, prayers on the base of their tongues that they'd make it to Derek in time.

Even when the pain of Derek breaking her arm threatened to consume her, and she screamed when claws dug into her flesh and drew her blood in immense quantities in order to drain the Kanima's venom from her system, Erica couldn't stop thinking about how Stiles' had rushed to save her, despite all the wrong she'd done to him lately.

“Stiles,” She whispered as loud as the pounding in her head would allow. “You make a good Batman.” His arms cushioned her as her vision turned black and the pain blissfully faded away.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her bare feet hardly made a sound as she trekked through the woods behind her house, following something she couldn't explain. It wasn't a sound or an image that drew her to the mansion like estate with it's Roman columns and Grecian marble entry, but rather a feeling.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed in the vast expanse around her. Lydia wrapped her arms around herself as a gust of frosty wind nipped at her bones and rustled the dried leaves scattered around the seemingly abandoned home.

Veering off to the right wing of the house, Lydia carefully traversed a set of steps that led into what appeared to be a dining hall of sorts with a mahogany dresser standing resolute in the middle of the room. “Over here.” The boy that had been following her as of late told her.

He looked just as he always did. Short brownish blonde hair, sharp blue eyes and a crooked grin to die for. Lydia hadn't liked him at first—he'd been obstinant and rude to her at the guidance counselor's office and around school—but when he'd brought Prada back to her house and been kind of romantic to her, she found that he'd grown on her quite a bit.

“Is this your house?” She wondered, glancing around at the tall ceilings and dusty wooden floors. It might have been expensive, decadent even, if it didn't appear to be so forgotten.

“It was.” He admitted, confirming her suspicions that no one had lived in the home for some time. “I'll tell you all about it, but first; did you bring the flower?”

Rolling her lips guiltily, Lydia found that she couldn't meet his eyes for fear of the disappointment she'd find. He'd warned her about losing it and she'd teased him about lying to him, but now that she was in front of him, caught red-handed, Lydia didn't really want to make any more excuses.

“I couldn't find it.” She replied and the pressure on her chest dissolved. _No more lies_ , Lydia promised herself. _I've been lied to enough times by others to realize that it hurts more than anyone knows._

Smiling at her in that mischievous, slightly devious way of his, the boy shrugged his shoulders indifferently, smugness radiating from every pore. “That's okay.” He soothed her worries, closing the space between them in a few strides. He was taller than she remembered—he towered over her by at least a foot, but she didn't feel intimidated.

“But since you don't have it,” He continued, leaning in close to her face so that his breath fanned over her cheeks. “I'm gonna need that kiss.”

Lydia didn't know why she did it; plenty of hot guys had made advances on her over the years and she'd never been tempted by them before—perhaps it was because Jackson had dumped her or because this boy had been more truthful to her than just about any of her friends. Whatever the reason, Lydia found her lips colliding with his in a passionate embrace.

Her fingernails raked across the boy's scalp and one of hands slipped down from her waist while the other tangled in her long, curly red hair. Oxygen deprivation had never tasted so sweet to Lydia and she wondered whether she was in love because even when she'd been with Jackson—who she was grudgingly certain she was in love with—she'd never felt this way before.

Her eyes, which had slipped shut without her knowledge, peeked open as she drew back a little from the tall teenager, a cold breeze ruffling her sweater and igniting a fierce insistence at the base of her skull. Glancing over to the side, she looked in the mahogany armoire's plated doors only to catch the boy's reflection.

What she saw was enough to make her stumble apart from the man she'd been kissing, covering her lips with her hands as she beheld his true image with aghast revulsion and terror.

“Is something wrong?” He curiously asked. Even his voice sounded different; deeper.

A scream bubbled in her throat and escaped through her lips as she realized what had happened to her. All those times she'd been talking to him and she couldn't even remember his name. Not a single thing about him came to mind.

Looking around herself, Lydia noticed that the grandeur of the mansion around her had faded, replaced by crumbling timber and ashy bricks. It was a ruin from Beacon Hill's most infamous fire; the _Hale_ house fire.

Her back collided with the sooty remains of a fireplace and she allowed her body to collapse onto the ground as the boy turned man approached her. His skin was burned in some places and covered in scorch marks in others. Easing himself beside her, the man she recognized from newspaper clippings and TV broadcasts as Peter Hale began to speak.

“I'm so sorry, Lydia.” He apologized sympathetically as she stared off into space. Somewhere in her mind, a circuit had fried and she'd lost all touch with reality. Lydia knew she wasn't dreaming, she was too smart to even consider it, but all the same, she yearned to wake up in her bed and deny everything running through her mind with certainty she now could never possess.

“All of this must be terribly confusing, but at least you know that you're not actually crazy.” Peter tried to sooth her completely shattered nerves. “Well—not completely.” He amended, ultimately failing miserably. But perhaps that had been the point; to mock her with his efforts.

“There's bound to be some residual effects, but you're a strong girl.” He listed casually, not at all deterred by her lack of response. “Personally, I think you're gonna pull through with a minimal amount of post traumatic stress— and maybe a few years of profoundly disturbing nightmares.” He added thoughtfully.

“I had a plan, you know.” Peter gloated, leaning his head on her shoulder and cementing the fact that he was real, that this was happening. “It was a good plan, but if there's one thing that I've learned in life, it's to always have a backup. That would be you.” He pointed out proudly.

“Your immunity makes you a perfect plan B.” Peter prattled on, more interested in sharing his own genius than whether Lydia was listening or not. “You wouldn't turn from the bite. You wouldn't die. But you would be able to do one very important thing.”

“Do you know what that is, Lydia?” He addressed her for the first time since he'd first begun explaining himself. “Lydia!” Peter yelled as she struggled to assimilate the question.

Lying beside her, pristine and pure against the stark contamination of the burned out hearth, was a periwinkle tinted flower. The same flower Peter had given her before she'd known who he was and what he wanted.

She picked it up in her blackened palm, recalling that she'd seen a similar species in Adrianna's bouquet of flowers, and blew across the tiny petals. Purple glitter seemed to fall away from the specimen, tickling her fingers and turning them light purple in colour.

Her eyes narrowed on the flower as Peter Hale's idea planted in her mind. She would show them all how innocent and naive she could be. Lydia Martin would remind them why it was a very foolish thing indeed, to keep things from her.

A tiny part of her remembered that Adrianna had tried to tell her, only the night before, all the things she hadn't been ready to hear and still wasn't. Peter's voice snuffed out those thoughts quickly. Kate Argent was evil and so was her daughter.

Lydia would punish them all, including her little Argent friends.

She didn't even stop to think about how the voice whispering ideas in her head didn't sound or resemble her own— _at all_. She was too far gone, too far controlled by the wolf that bit her but never turned her.

**#-#-#-#-#**

_Not again,_ Adrianna only had a second to think before the burning prongs of a military grade tazer came into contact with her tingling shoulder blade. She grunted, clenching her teeth together and fisting her hands, pulling against the cuffs that held her to the chainlink fence in Chris Argent's basement.

When she'd come home from school, she knew that there would be a punishment for refusing to share who the Kanima was with her family, but she had never expected something like this. It had been nearly ten years since electricity had been used as a discipline against her. Ever since she'd nearly died at the age of seven and a half. Ever since Gerard had found out her weakness to Zeus' primary weapon.

After nearly a whole minute of pulsing, burning energy soaring through her tender muscles and heavy bones, Chris finally stepped back and allowed her a short moment of reprieve. Gerard moved forward and took his son's place, jamming a hand beneath her lolling chin and lifting until her eyes met his.

“Who is the Kanima?” He interrogated as he'd been consistently doing for the past hour. “You know we can do this all night, Adrianna.” Gerard reminded her, raising a brow as her features contorted in agony the deeper his fingers dug into her clavicle. “Now, be a good girl and tell us who it is.” He prompted cruelly.

Inhaling an immense lungful of air, Adrianna turned her head away from her grandfather, answering just as she had every other time he'd asked. This time, however, Gerard's temper had taken all it could endure.

“You stupid girl.” He cried indignantly, stretching out his open palm towards Chris in a silent demand for the tazer. “You'll soon learn—once and for all—that you cannot resist against my efforts for long.”

Chris hesitated, looking between Adrianna's limp form and the bloodthirsty gleam in Gerard's eyes. The weapon in his hands seemed to weigh him down as his shoulders sagged and his steps were more forceful than before.

“Are you sure—” He struggled to ask, leaning into Gerard's side in order to whisper into his father's ear. “She doesn't look like she can handle much more.” Chris amended. If it hadn't been for the bright lights glaring at her, Adrianna wouldn't have been able to see the way Gerard's pupils dilated with his fury.

Snatching the tazer out of Chris' grasp roughly, Gerard snarled akin to the wild beasts he hunted and killed. “Step aside if you can't handle the gore.” He informed his son patronizingly. “There will be no relief for Adrianna until she tells me that name.”

Without further ado, Gerard dialed the voltage up to it's maximum setting and slammed the pronged end into the fleshy part of Adrianna's stomach. The only way to even try to describe it, in Adrianna opinion, was like being struck by the legendary _master bolt_ itself.

Adrianna couldn't stop herself from screaming and lashing out as her body convulsed. It was a lucky thing that Allison hadn't gotten out of detention yet, as Adrianna was certain that her cries could be heard throughout the neighbourhood.

Her throat was grated raw by the sheer power of her voice and her fingers flexed and stiffened in unnatural positions as she tried to compartmentalize the pain. Feet kicking out and jangling the metal fence behind her, Adrianna felt a sticky, hot substance leak out of her nose and ears. The sight of the blackened blood obviously wasn't alarming to Gerard, as he continued to electrocute her with as much vigour as he'd begun. The same could not be said for Chris, who physically took a step back and placed a hand over his gaping jaw.

The corners of Adrianna's vision seemed to narrow, colouring black, and she felt a deep pulling within her chest the likes of which she'd only ever felt once before. Tears gathered and fell from her eyes and they crawled across her cheeks like sticky molasses.

In front of her, replacing the psychotic face of her grandfather, was the pale ghost of her father. Thanatos was as beautiful as she remembered and just as aloof. Other than her pale complexion and supernatural abilities, Adrianna hardly resembled the god; there was more of her mother in her than anything else.

“What have you allowed yourself to become, my child?” He asked her, his voice as loud as the thundering of her heart and as soft as the wheezing of her lungs, all at once. “These mortals bend you to their will and yet, you do not unleash your full wrath upon them. Why?” He wondered, shaking his head.

Idly, Adrianna wondered if she was unconscious or dead, as there'd never been another way to visit or speak with her father before. Checking her surroundings, Adrianna still found that she was in the unfinished portion of the basement allocated for torture, however, the overwhelming agony she'd endured for what might have been a lifetime was not present.

“Father,” She seemed to question instead of state. “I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not strong enough.” She choked, suddenly remembering her pitiful defeat earlier in the day, against the human Kanima. “Something's happening to me; am I dying?”

“No, little one.” Thanatos assured her, his fingers brushing her cheeks like the kiss of a fluttering wind. “You have not passed on from your mortal form, contrary to what your grandfather wishes.”

“Gerard wants me dead? Nothing new there.” Snorting bemusedly, Adrianna's head tilted back as she winced, her body beginning to feel the pain once more, and her father's face becoming distorted like that of a reflection in a pond.

“I cannot stay long my daughter.” Thanatos warned her, his voice already fading. “Beware of the ones you trust, Adrianna.” He told her seriously. “Trace back the seed of your journey here and you will find the reason for your debilitation.”

“I don't know how.” Adrianna's voice pitched with emotion as her body became more solid. “Tell me how.” She begged her father moments before he disappeared.

“Trust your heart,” Her father's echoing voice informed her, sounding miles away. “It will not lead you astray.”

Gasping awake, Adrianna dared not move as icy hot needles of pain shot through her body's soft tissues and muscular ligaments. Her head felt stuffy, as though she'd been underwater and her lungs squeezed tightly each time she inhaled. Chris stood over her, his hands still pressing down on her chest in compressions meant to revive her.

His eyes met hers, honest and rawly remorseful, and Adrianna instantly knew what had happened. Her heart had stopped, as it always did when she was exposed to electrical currents for prolonged periods of time, and she'd died.

There was a surreal type of acceptance running through Adrianna's veins. She'd known this day was coming for as long as she could remember. Now that it was upon her, she felt a profound sense of disappointment mixed with relief. He'd finally done it. Gerard had finally gone _too_ far.

If the lack of her restraints and the disappearance of the tazer were anything to go by, he knew it too. 

Chris helped her to her feet, which pulsed and ached under her weight but did not collapse, and as she was leaning on him, Adrianna took note of the exchange of facial expressions between Gerard and him. “We shouldn't continue.” Chris finally said, his grip on her tightening, perhaps out of his guilt.

Smiling grimly, Gerard shook his head. “No,” He disagreed. “We'll simply have to change tactics.” It only took a moment for her to become aware of the shiny, black pistol her grandfather pulled out from behind his waistline but by that time, he'd already chambered a round, pointed the gun in her direction, and fired.

The bang was deafening, as it always was, but somehow it felt that much louder this time, when she knew it would be the last gunshot she'd ever hear. Adrianna reflexively shut her eyes, clasping her hands together tightly in front of her, as though she could block the bullet with them.

A moment of serene, absolutely nerve-wracking silence rung in the basement, broken only by Adrianna's laboured breathing. She waited for the blood to wetten her clothes, for the bullet that ripped apart her flesh, to lodge itself deep within her and poison her slowly. Aside from the residual throbbing she felt from the electrocution, Adrianna didn't feel anything; not even pain.

The sudden, gutteral groaning sound nearby which was distinctly masculine, brought her eyes away from where they were staring in disbelief at her unharmed body. Chris beside her was healthy as well, turning along with her to watch the hunter behind them—a lowly hired thug Adrianna could hardly remember her grandfather hiring—collapsing to the ground with a bloody wound staining his lower torso.

Her injuries forgotten, Adrianna broke free from Chris' support and stumbled over to the man. His face pinched in anguish as her hands quickly moved over the bullet hole, applying enough pressure to prevent the man's inners and entire blood supply from leaking out.

“Since you've never responded to your own, physical punishment,” Gerard lightly remarked, his shoes tapping against the cement floors as he knelt down next to her. “I thought I should try inclining my efforts towards your compassion.”

Chris hadn't moved from where he'd been. His hands were empty and so were his eyes as they stared between his father and Adrianna. She met his gaze, pleading how she'd never lowered herself to do before, for the man's life before her. He looked away first, taking his jacket from the staircase' railing and walking up the steps, out of the basement.

Tears welling in her eyes, Adrianna felt her body beginning to tremble in anticipation of the hunter's death. Glaring at Gerard, who was happily gloating at her with hardly any need for words, Adrianna ripped off a segment of her shirt and hurriedly created a make-shift tourniquet.

“Why?” She questioned her grandfather, biting back the insults she wanted to spew at him for the sake of the man's life. He couldn't have been older than twenty—he would have had his whole life ahead of him if Gerard hadn't shot him in such a way.

Getting up off the ground with relative ease, which surprised Adrianna as Gerard had always complained about his arthritis preventing him from being the dexterous and mobile hunter he'd once been in his younger years, Gerard placed a degrading hand over her shoulder.

“Because you are more like your mother than you realize.” He told her, stepping aside when she reached out her spare hand to try to claw at him in desperate rage. “And because it seems to have worked. You're responding quite well.” Gerard fondly exclaimed, laughing at her attempts.

“He'll die!” Adrianna yelled through her already ruined throat. “You can't possibly be that callous. This is a man's life we're talking about. Do anything to me—electrocute me, waterboard me, cut me, cage me, kill me if you dare—but do not do anything to the others. They don't know what they've gotten into. None of them do.” She growled, thinking of Allison and Scott, Stiles and Isaac, even Derek and Jackson.

Her mind stayed on Jackson, the boy she'd been protecting with her life and now, it seemed, with the life of another as well. Lifting the hunter's neck higher beneath her as he begun to gargle and drown in his own blood, a few tears cascaded across her cheeks without her permission as she tried her best to sooth the young man who was so near to death, Adrianna could taste it.

“It's alright.” She reassured him, stroking his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “The pain will soon pass. Everything's going to be okay.” She nearly sobbed, viscera poking out between her fingers.

“He's going to die, Adrianna.” Gerard reminded her harshly, watching calmly like a sports spectator. “He can't be consoled now. Think of all the things he could have done. The only thing he was able to accomplish was to work beneath others as a lowly servant.” He snarled.

The man beneath her lifted his head slightly, coughing up blood from the effort. His eyes pleaded with her for mercy, for help that she couldn't give. “Is it true?” He stuttered out weakly. “Am I dying?”

Adrianna didn't have the strength to speak so she simply nodded. The man didn't cry, he appeared braver than that, but his breathing did falter as reality sunk in. Staring daggers at her grandfather, Adrianna shuffled closer to the man as she tried to compress his wound further to buy him as much time as she could.

“Tell him, Adrianna.” Gerard mocked her. “Tell him that you can't save him. Take away his hope.” He goaded.

“Stop it.” She weakly demanded, curling in on herself as the room chilled around her.

“Unless,” Her grandfather suddenly said, his voice rising with false surprise. “There _is_ something you can do.”

“I'm not telling you who the Kanima is.” Adrianna roughly replied, her eyes stinging terribly. She replayed the memories she'd taken from Jackson; how his parents had died without him ever meeting them—his infantile form being pulled from his already deceased mother. He was just like her really; a misunderstood orphan being crushed by other's expectations of them.

She found that there wasn't a single part of her that would be willing to divulge Jackson's secret, despite the price she now saw would be taken from her and the man beneath her. Sniffling, Adrianna thread both her hands together over top of the young man's stomach, blood already soaking into her knees as it pooled around him.

 _The bullet must have gone clean through,_ she understood sadly. He had even less time than she'd thought.

“That's not entirely what I meant.” Gerard spoke up after a long while of being strangely silent. Adrianna looked over at him, confused. What else could he possibly want from her, to save the man's life. At this point, she knew that he could not be saved—he wasn't a bargaining chip anymore.

Noticing her puzzled expression, Gerard pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the wall and lifted his eyebrows pointedly at her. “You can't save him from death, but you can take away his pain.” He told her slyly, as though she would be playing right into an unknown trap of his own making, if she complied.

“I don't understand.” Adrianna admitted, the man under her beginning to gasp for breath. “How can I do that? I don't have that power.”

“Oh, but you do.” Gerard corrected her, positively giddy. “End his life now and he can forgo the experience of total exsanguination and organ failure.” He cheerfully shared with her, as though conversing about what flavour of ice cream he liked best.

“You want me to kill him so that he doesn't have to die slowly?” Adrianna wondered, sensing an ulterior motive hidden beneath the surface. “What's in it for you?” She pressed.

“Why, nothing at all.” Gerard assured her. “You're powers are of great use to me in the battle against the supernaturals of Beacon Hills. I simply want them to be at peak efficiency.” He explained.

Narrowing her eyes, Adrianna didn't believe Gerard for a second but the man lying on the floor, dying, _was_ in pain. He was grimacing now, hardly able to tolerate the torment wracking his fragile body. For his sake, she decided to adhere to her grandfather's suggestion.

She looked over at Gerard once more before concentrating on the man's fluttering pulse. Her eyes blackened as she saw, not the ordinary things she always did, but heat and light and the currents of the mist all around her.

Pressing down on the man's chest, Adrianna drained his life force from the shattered shell of his body, devouring his memories and knowledge as though they were a feast laid out for a starving man. His name was Robert, she learned. He was twenty-two.

As black veins rose over her hands, onto ever portion of Robert's flesh, exposed or not, Adrianna felt her sapped strength returning, as it always did when she stole away a life from another. She didn't see Gerard's pleased smile as black blood dripped out of her nose. She didn't even think to wonder why he'd bothered to kill Robert, if it hadn't gotten him the name of the Kanima.

All she could think of was the twenty-two years of experiences that she absorbed and the relief in Robert's soul as his pain faded away along with the connection to his body.

When her eyes opened again, she was alone with a dead body. She remembered the words her father had said. Searching her heart, Adrianna found that Gerard was no longer present in the hardened organ, replaced by a myriad pack of werewolves, two best friends that got into heaps of trouble, a cousin she didn't quite trust, and a red-headed harbinger of death that Adrianna found she got along with famously.

Adrianna resolved to help them save Jackson, even if it meant turning her back on her own family. After all, what had they ever done for her aside from manipulating her into the form of a mindless weapon.

 _Not anymore,_ Adrianna vowed, shrugging on her mother's leather jacket and sliding her favourite knife out of the drawer Chris had stashed it in, running her finger over the edge delicately and drawing blood despite her efforts.

If anyone stood in her way; she'd kill them.

_All of them._


	8. Raving

As the Sheriff peeled the wrapper off his hamburger, sinking his teeth into what should have been a juicy paddy with extra mayo, no onions and a crispy bun, he cringed when all he got instead was soggy, bland, lettuce and some sort of tofu concoction that should have been classified under the State's litany of deadly poisons.

Swallowing thickly, Sheriff Stilinski stared at the sacrilegious ruination of a perfect meal as he complained to his son. “Oh,” He groaned mournfully, setting the burger down. “What the hell is this?”

“A veggie burger.” Stiles informed him factually, sounding so much like a parent telling their child to eat all their carrots and peas, that the Sheriff took a moment to comprehend what his son had told him.

“Stiles,” He sighed, stomach growling despite the terribly taste still clinging to his mouth. “I asked for a hamburger.” He didn't add that it had been at least five hours since he'd last eaten; the kid had enough on his mind without worrying about him.

“Well, veggie is healthier.” Stiles pointed out smartly. “We're being healthy.” He reminded his father.

Reluctantly letting the subject drop, the Sheriff set aside his burger and popped open the lid to his fries and ketchup, only to discover celery and carrot sticks in the place of delightful junk food. “Oh, hell.” He swore dispassionately. “Why are you trying to ruin my life?” He whined.

“I'm trying to extend your life, okay?” His son retorted sympathetically. “Could you just eat it, please?” He asked of him.

For a moment, the Sheriff considered braving the fibrous strands of celery and cardboard-like chunks of carrots, just to wipe the pleading expression off Stiles' face, but then his son continued talking, revealing what he really wanted and all thoughts of sacrificing his evening meal evaporated from the Sheriff's mind.

“And tell me what you found.” Stiles inserted covertly, looking anywhere but at his father.

Pushing aside the food Stiles had brought him, Sheriff Stilinski shook his head ardently, repeating what he always did when Stiles overstepped his bounds into the Sheriff's work. “No, I'm not sharing confidential police work with a teenager.” He paraphrased, pining his son where he sat with a determined stare.

Despite the fact that he couldn't roam around, Stiles' eyes did all the exploratory research for him, landing on the cork board behind the Sheriff and rapidly moving around at all the collected evidence and theories the elder Stilinski had thought of so far.

“Is that it on the board behind you?” Stiles wondered hopefully, greedily consuming all the information presented to him in clear view.

“Don't look at that.” The Sheriff chastised sharply, ignoring his son's protesting groan as he tried to regain Stiles' attention. “Avert your eyes.” He commanded, waving his hands around desperately.

“Okay.” Stiles sighed, and the Sheriff finally leaned back in his chair, relieved that he'd managed to dodge a proverbial bullet.

“Hey!” He cried indignantly when he caught Stiles glancing back over at the board of suspects and victims.

“Just—it's just—” Stiles explained, as jittery and excited as he always got when the Sheriff allowed him to participate in police work. “I see arrows pointing at pictures.” He finally managed to say, seemingly buzzing in his chair.

“Okay, okay, stop.” Sheriff Stilinski gave in, lifting his arms in surrender to his only child. “Fine. I found something.” He shared, finally garnering Stiles' interest for long enough to look away from the board.

“The mechanic and the couple who were murdered.” He continued, smiling as Stiles hung onto his every word. “They all had something in common.”

“All three?” Stiles butted in, too consumed in his own thought processes to bother with niceties. It had always been that way with him.

“Yeah.” His father confirmed. “You know what I always say. One's an incident. Two's a coincidence.” He listed, also finding that he was beginning to feel that adrenaline buzz at the base of his skull whenever he immersed himself in a case.

“Three's a pattern.” Stiles finished for him.

“The mechanic, the husband, the wife—” The Sheriff counted off on his fingers. “All the same age. All twenty-four.”

“Wait,” Stiles stopped him from going on. “What about Mr. Lahey? I mean, Isaac's dad isn't anywhere near twenty-four.” He pointed out exactly what the Sheriff was going to go over next.

“Which made me think that either 'A',” Sheriff Stilinski explained patiently. “Lahey's murder wasn't connected, or 'B', the ages were a coincidence, until I found this, which would be 'C'.” He handed a manila folder over to Stiles, who hastily flipped it open and read the contents.

“Did you now that Isaac Lahey had an older brother named Camden?” The Sheriff questioned as Stiles' eyes flitted across the page.

“'Died in combat'?” His son quoted, not entirely sure he'd gotten his father's point.

“But if he were alive today,” The Sheriff gently directed. “Take one guess as to how old he'd be.”

Looking up from the report, Stiles gulped as his lips formed the number that had been a breakthrough for the Sheriff in connecting all four recent murders. “Twenty-four.”

Getting up from his chair, the Sheriff placed his hands on his hips as he stared at the board he'd assembled. So many unanswered questions still remained, too many holes in his theories and not enough hard evidence to prove more than a handful. He had to admit, he needed Stiles' help.

“Now what if same age means same class?” Stiles voiced from where he'd migrated to stand beside his father. The sheriff covered his mouth with his hand as the idea brought a fresh spark of detective skills to life. “I mean, did you think of that?” Stiles wondered when the Sheriff had been silent for a while.

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered noncommittally. “Well, I would've.” He tried to excuse. “I mean, I—look, I just got the Lahey's file two hours ago.” The Sheriff embarrassingly admitted, trying to remember when his son had gotten better at the Sheriff's job than him.

“Two hours?” Stiles balked, his mouth agape. “Dad, people could be dying.” He exclaimed frustratedly.

“Yeah, I'm aware of that. Thank you.” The Sheriff grumbled sarcastically, still sore about not having thought of the idea himself.

“Same class.” Stiles muttered, rolling the theory around in his incredible brain before rushing over to the Sheriff's desk and extracting files from within a drawer.

“Hey!” His father protested. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Same class.” Stiles repeated, slamming a yearbook down onto the top of the desk. The Sheriff smirked, nodding his head as he knelt down to help his son take out the rest of the yearbooks and class reports.

“Okay, this is it.” His son triumphantly exclaimed after flipping through nearly a dozen different files. “Class of two thousand six. They all went to Beacon Hills.” He added as the Sheriff stood up and leaned closer to Stiles' in order to read over his shoulder.

“Including Isaac's brother.” The Sheriff identified the yearbook photo of a boy that looked very familiar; the same hair colour, jaw structure, and eye colour as his brother.

“All right,” Stiles thought out loud. “So what if they all knew each other, you know?” He proposed. “I mean, two of them were married, so maybe the all just hung out.”

Sorting through another stack of papers, searching for something he'd seen before but dismissed, the Sheriff opened a folder and flipped through the loose pages until he stopped at the list of students in the two thousand six chemistry class.

His finger slammed into the paper as he underlined a name he'd become very familiar with, and then another, and another. “Well, they could have had the same classes together. They could've—” He tried to tell Stiles, only to be interrupted.

“What?” Stiles queried as he snatched the paper from his father's hands.

Breathing deeply, the Sheriff flexed his now empty fingers open and closed again, cracking the knuckles. “Same teacher.” He finished shortly, already feeling his irritation seeping away as Stiles' eyes lit up.

“Harris.” He supplied, scanning through the students' names faster than the Sheriff could keep up with. “They were all in his class?” Stiles asked.

“All four.” The Sheriff confirmed grimly. “And I don't know how Mr. Lahey fits in, but this—kid,” He fondly told Stiles as he connected the dots. “This is definitely a pattern.”

“All right, give me the two thousand six yearbook.” He held out his hand as Stiles passed him the open book. “These names, we need faces.” Sheriff Stilinski realized as he leafed through the book, looking for names in alphabetical order.

“Which ones?” Stiles reflected, eager to help.

“Everyone in that chemistry class.” The Sheriff gravely informed his son, pointing towards a picture of two of the already murdered students in Harris' chemistry class of two thousand six. “If the killer's not done killing—”

“One of them is next.” Stiles concluded solemnly.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Stepping inside the Beacon Hills animal clinic, Isaac did not have high hopes for the new truce Scott had arranged with Derek. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that his alpha wanted to kill the Kanima; he didn't care if that meant killing Jackson or not, so long as it was dead.

“What's he doing here?” Scott demanded once they'd gotten through the door. Stiles was nowhere to be seen, which was a surprise as Scott was hardly ever seen without his partner in crime.

“I need him.” Derek gruffly responded, no sentimentality or fondness present in his voice or body language. Isaac had long since begun to question whether Derek even cared about his betas or not.

Scott narrowed his eyes as he approached the gate separating the lobby from the inside of the clinic, and said, “I don't trust him.”

“Yeah, well,” Isaac interrupted, getting tired of being spoken of as though he wasn't right there. “He doesn't trust you either.”

Pushing ahead of them both, Derek's irritation was prominent in the way his shoulders were set back and stiff. “You know what?” He asked them patronizingly. “And Derek really doesn't care.” He mocked with his usual cruel, degrading humor. “Now where's the vet? Is he gonna help us or not?”

“That depends.” A dark skinned man, probably in his late forties to fifties, with no hair and keen eyes told them from the other side of the gate. “Your friend, Jackson. Are we planning to kill him or save him?” He questioned.

A gust of wind seemed to ruffle through Isaac's hair but he paid it no mind. Ever since Adrianna had done—what she'd done to him, he'd been having trouble acclimating to sudden noises or shadows. It was like he'd regressed to before the bite, when he'd been afraid of anything that moved. Most of the time, he'd managed to hide it from Derek and himself, but now, it was impossible to ignore.

“Kill him.” Derek supplied for the vet, confirming Isaac's earlier thought, at the same time as Scott replied,

“Save him.”

Glancing between each other, Scott's brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. Clearly he was remembering his one and only stipulation to becoming a temporary member of Derek's pack. Clearly Derek didn't plan to adhere to said condition.

“Save him.” Scott repeated, distrustfully scanning Derek's blank expression.

“Well,” The vet interceded before things could get even more tense. “Which is it then; save him, or kill him?”

Scott kept his eyes trained on Derek, as Derek kept his stare on Scott, and so, neither of them noticed the huntress approaching from behind them until she was already less than a foot away.

“You're going to save Jackson,” She told them resolutely. “And I'm going to help you do it.”

Isaac had seen her when she'd passed by him, but he hadn't noticed when she'd gotten inside the clinic. Outside, he could see a distinct black SUV parked in the handicapped space and he wondered how she'd managed to sneak past three werewolves' hearing with hardly any effort.

As Derek snarled angrily, his eyes glowing red and his claws gleaming sharply, wrapping his large hand all the way around her throat and slamming her into the wall beside the door, Isaac's trail of thought snapped like a string pulled taut and he reacted on his first instinct, which was to harshly separate both of them as Adrianna choked and gagged, suspended three feet in the air.

“Isaac,” Derek warned in a throaty growl. “Get out of my way.” Even Scott didn't seem to mind the way Isaac's alpha had attacked the huntress.

Looking over his shoulder at Adrianna leaning heavily against the wall, clutching her throat gingerly, something in him prevented him from stepping away and allowing Derek to unleash what was left of his anger onto her. She looked so fragile when the moonlight outside hit her at that angle, casting ominous shadows over her clouded eyes and drawing out the paleness of her flesh.

“No,” He answered, hardly even hesitating. “Didn't you hear what she just said? She wants to help us. At least let her explain herself before you gut her.” Isaac tried to persuade, turning to meet Derek's furious and slightly startled expression.

“You're kidding me?” Derek caustically spat, the red fading from his irises as the feverish rage he'd been in subsided the longer Isaac blocked Adrianna from him. “She's attacked every one of us—she nearly killed you last night—and now, and you still want to protect her?” Shaking his head in disappointment, Derek turned his back on Isaac and stalked through the open gate and further into the back of the veterinary office.

Standing up fully, without the support of the wall holding her upright, Adrianna's shoulder brushed his as she stood next to him, facing off against Scott, who was nearly as skeptical as Derek. “If you so much as breathe in the wrong direction,” He warned, begrudgingly stepping aside for her to follow after the vet, who'd disappeared inside. “I'll let Derek have you.”

“Sounds fair enough.” Adrianna agreed. Even when she was standing on the opposite side of the steel operating table than him, Isaac could feel his heart burning hot, like she was some kind of catalyst to a chemical reaction within him. He had to clench the edge of the table to prevent himself from becoming dizzy.

Leaning over, using the table as a support once the dark skinned man began sorting through glass jars in a wooden box and Adrianna unholstered a pistol, along with three different sized blades, leaving them on the counter top for everyone to see, Isaac found his curiosity growing. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch one of the blades, eyeing Adrianna's gun next.

“Watch what you touch.” Derek snapped, swatting his hand away roughly. He still hadn't forgiven him for preventing his revenge from being dished out. Isaac didn't mind. There was hardly a time when Derek wasn't mad at something or someone, this time it just happened to be him.

“So what are you?” He spoke up to pass the time, wary of Adrianna's unrelenting gaze on him as her fingers twitched at her side, desperate to grab hold of her weapons again. “Some kind of witch?”

Across from him, Adrianna made a sound that could have been a laugh crossed with a sharp inhalation. When the bald-headed man turned to glance at her, she raised her brows innocently, smirking in that devilish way of hers.

“No,” The man informed him. “I'm a veterinarian.”

Setting back the jar filled with purple looking flowers, the vet sighed heavily as he directed his attention between Derek and Scott. It was clear that they were the ones in charge of what happened here tonight and that Isaac and Adrianna were the tag-alongs.

“Unfortunately,” He continued disappointedly. “I don't see anything here that's going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin.” He shared, pushing the box further away and running a hand over his scalp.

“We're open to suggestions.” Derek seemed to have restrained himself from his usual level of mocking sarcasm for the sake of maintaining the vet's cooperation.

Rubbing a hand over his lip, Isaac remembered something his brother had taught him a long time ago. _'A good defense is sometimes just as important as a good offense.'_

“What about an effective offense?” He asked, looking around the room, searching for approval he didn't find.

“We already tried.” Derek pointed out harshly. “I nearly took its head off and Argent emptied an entire clip into it. The thing just gets back up.” He admitted.

“Not always.” Adrianna calmly interceded. “I was able to slow it down quite a few times and you're forgetting that, for whatever strange reason, it's toxin hasn't worked on me or Lydia.”

“Yeah, I wonder why that is?” Derek pretended to consider his options. “Maybe it's because you're not who or _what_ you say you are.” His voice rose and Isaac felt his muscles coiling in anticipation of a fight.

Instead, Adrianna simply smiled and shrugged off her jacket. “I never claimed to be anything, Derek.” She corrected him, not at all fazed by his domineering expression. “I've let all of you believe what you've wanted to. Just because I never felt the need to inform you of the minute details of my life, doesn't mean I ever lied to you.”

“Whatever.” Derek came as close to admitting defeat as Isaac had ever seen, avoiding eye contact with Adrianna as he stared heatedly at the tabletop beneath his fingers.

“Has it shown any weaknesses?” Deaton interjected, picking off from where the conversation had veered off.

“One.” Derek muttered angrily. “It can't swim.”

“Does that go for Jackson as well?” The vet wondered, collecting as much information as he could from the ornery werewolf.

“No.” Scott piped up. “He's the captain of the swim team.”

Nodding his head thoughtfully, Deaton turned around and returned with a round, metal coin-like piece. It had a man sitting cross-legged in the center with swirls and tree branches encircling the edges.

“Essentially, you're trying to catch two people. A puppet and a puppeteer.” He explained patiently, showing them one side of the coin and then the other. “One killed the husband, but the other had to take care of the wife. Do we know why?” He coached them into thinking.

“I don't think Jackson could do it.” Scott theorized. “His mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murdered. I think he couldn't let the same thing happen to someone else.”

Adrianna was silent as she stared at her hands so Isaac took the momentary pause in the conversation as an opportunity to share his opinion. “How do you know it's not part of the rules?” He challenged. “The Kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby dies too.”

“Does that mean your father was a murderer?” Scott retorted, genuinely curious.

Isaac felt his chest tighten at the thought of his father. He hadn't even had time to grieve the man's death and yet, he knew he never would. “Wouldn't surprise me if he was.” Isaac bitterly agreed, staring into the bright light positioned over the table, illuminating the coin, which now sat idle on the counter.

“Trust me, honey,” Adrianna's voice was like a sudden thunderclap on a sunny afternoon. No one had been expecting her to speak after she'd been silent for so long. “Your father wasn't a murderer.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Derek rebuked hostilely. “What is it that you've got going on between you and him that makes him want to protect you all the time?” He gestured between Isaac and Adrianna. “Did you hypnotize him or something?” Derek remarked callously.

Breaching the space separating her and Derek, Adrianna plunged her finger into his chest as her eyes grew cold and cruel. “I don't know, maybe you should ask my mother.” She suggested defensively. “I hear you and her were close, that is, before the fire.”

Baring his fangs, Derek roared furiously, throwing himself at her faster than Isaac could react. Thankfully, Adrianna could take care of herself. Her hand shot out with astounding speed, wrapping around Derek's throat and holding him at arm's length as he struggled to break free.

“Did I hit a nerve?” She prodded condescendingly, losing herself to violence as Isaac had seen her do so many times before. “How about you kill my family and we'll call it even?” Adrianna recommended to him, widening her eyes dramatically as Derek's claws sunk into the skin of her arm, drawing strangely coloured blood.

“Oh wait,” She continued, not bothered by the pain in the least. Scott shuffled where he stood but Isaac place a hand over his shoulder, urging him to stay out of it. “You're uncle Peter already took care of that for you.” Adrianna reminded him, her eyes turning glossy.

“Yeah, well,” Derek gasped out as his veins engorged from lack of circulation. “You've still got a lot of family left. I'm sure I can settle the score.”

“That's quite enough,” The vet pronounced rather loudly as Adrianna's ire increased. “Don't you think?” He prompted once he'd garnered their attention.

Releasing her hold on Derek, Adrianna ignored the way he rubbed at his neck and turned her back on him, swaying her hips exaggeratedly as she stood beside Isaac. “Bad dog.” She said to Derek as he continued to glare at her.

“Now,” Deaton reminded them, as though they were children. “Why don't we all get along and focus on the task at hand. We have a murderer to catch, along with a Kanima we have no idea how to defeat.”

His words seemed to sober them both as Adrianna's head hung low and Derek finally looked away from her. “Okay, hold on.” He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “The book says they're bonded, right? What if the fear of water isn't coming from Jackson, but from the person controlling him?”

“Something that affects the Kanima, also affects it's master.” Adrianna added, her voice suggesting that she wasn't asking, so much as telling them, as Deaton spread a black powder all around the perimeter of the coin he'd shown them earlier.

“Meaning what?” Isaac questioned her, inclining his head so that he wasn't quite as close to her as he'd barely noticed being.

Her hand slid down his shoulder, across his bicep and ended resting over his wrist. Isaac's fingers tingled upon contact and he flexed them, trying to regain full feeling, eliciting a pleased smirk from Adrianna and a frustrated huff from Derek.

“Meaning we can catch them.” She told him, staring over at Derek before leaning closer to Isaac. He hardly even cared that she was using him to get back at Derek. The feeling of her hot breath fanning against his neck was so distracting, he barely even heard what Scott said next.

“Both of them.” He realized, grinning happily.

Isaac furrowed his brow as Adrianna's shirt slid to the right, exposing an angry, red burn on her left shoulder. The skin looked pinched in two places, like she'd been stabbed with a giant, fiery fork, or perhaps stung by a double pronged insect.

He worried about her well-being as her weight against him increased with a temporary loss of balance. She'd gotten in deep, hunting and killing people like him, but the fact that she was there and not obediently following her grandfather's commands, meant she wasn't sure which side she wanted to be on.

“Adrianna,” Deaton called before she could leave. “I was wondering if you'd be willing to share a sample of your blood with me. Purely for scientific purposes, of course.” He reassured her as she appeared hesitant. “I want to try and isolate what makes you immune to the Kanima's paralytic toxin.”

“Have at it Doc,” She smiled, seemingly relieved that he'd asked for her blood and not something else. “How much do you need?”

“A small vial should be fine.” The vet told her as she migrated to his side of the table and he led her out of the room, further into the clinic. “Just enough to prove a suspicion of mine.”

Her head craned to glance his way before following after the vet. Whether she was human or not, Isaac knew there was good in her. That was something Derek would never understand. Adrianna was not her mother; not completely, at least.

**#-#-#-#-#**

After two whole years of being on the team, Stiles' lacrosse gear still didn't fit right. He supposed that it was because he never actually got to play, so the too-big shoulder pads and jersey never had the chance to be filled in by muscle. Unlike some, the miraculous gift of instant abs, wicked sharp claws, glowing eyes and the occasional homicidal tendency hadn't been given to him.

“Can anybody tell me where the hell Jackson is and why he missed morning practice?” Beacon Hill's Coach demanded, truly outraged that someone had diverged from his specific attendance instructions.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him?” Stiles whispered over to Scott, who was just as surprised by their Coach's announcement as he'd been.

“Stilinski!” Finstock pounced on the sound of his voice like a vulture looking for scraps. “Jackson?”

His eyes widened as the Coach, along with many of the other players, looked to him for an answer. “Sorry, Coach, I haven't seen him since the last time I saw him.” He informed the man.

“Oh,” The Coach remarked disbelievingly. “And when was that?”

“Last time I saw him—” Stiles thought it over as the words tumbled out of his lips unproctored. “Was definitely the time I saw him last.” Beside him, Scott shook his head in embarrassment.

Finstock 's expression was one of utter confusion before he simply decided to change the topic, not bothering to try to understand or decode Stiles' words. “Yeah, again.” He told the group. “Danny, tell Jackson no missing practice this close to championships, okay?” The spiky-haired Coach demanded.

“Sure, Coach.” Danny agreed complacently.

“That goes for all of you.” Coach Finstock reminded them harshly, already retreating back inside his shuttered office. “I should be coaching college.” He complained before slamming the door behind him.

“Hey Danny,” Stiles immediately voiced, his anticipation clear in his tone. As the other boy turned, face pinching in confusion, Stiles waggled his eyebrows to convey his meaning, only ending up frightening Danny, if the way he scooted further away was any indication.

Sighing, Stiles tried again to speak with Danny, this time with more luck. “Do you have any extra tickets you can sell me? Apparently they stopped selling last night.”

“Sorry,” Danny apologized, glancing at Scott for confirmation that he'd understood Stiles correctly. “But I only got two myself.”

“What—” Stiles stopped himself from finishing his rather loud exclamation, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Do you even have a date yet?”

“I'm working on it.” The other boy supplied with a shrug.

“Okay, okay.” Stiles began trying to coerce. “Hear me out. You give us the tickets and you devote your life to abstinence and just—” A hand enclosed around Stiles' shoulder and pulled him back. At the mere appearance of violence, Danny scuttled away, traitorously looking after his own backside before anyone else's, although Stiles had to give it to the guy, it wasn't like they were close friends.

“How do you two losers even survive?” Isaac wondered, releasing his hold over both Stiles and Scott who'd been suspended on either side of him.

Frowning, Scott turned his head to face Isaac as Stiles busied himself rubbing his sore shoulder. “What are we supposed to do?” He asked, gesturing at the crowded locker room. “No one's even selling.”

Unfortunately, at that exact moment, two tickets exchanged hands between juniors. Stiles breathed deeply as Scott trailed off, demoralized. “Wait here, boys.” Isaac instructed them, slipping past and clapping each of their chests as he approached the unlucky students.

“What is he gonna—” Scott let the question hang as Isaac shoved the boy who'd bought the tickets into a nearby locker.

“Ow.” Stiles sympathized as Isaac slammed the boy's head into the already bent metal. “Oh, my—yup.” He concluded. “That's excessive.” An elbow to the kid's ribs made Stiles cringe. “That'll bruise.” He commented.

There was a loud screeching as Isaac pushed the boy up off the ground by his jersey and then let him drop. “Ow.” Scott muttered, his shoulders drawing up and his eyes darting around as though he was the one getting beaten up.

“Wow, okay.” Stiles pronounced as Isaac bent the junior's arm at a painful angle before he finally accepted the outstretched tickets that'd been recently purchased.

Walking back over to Scott and Stiles, Isaac pushed the tickets into their outstretched hands. “Enjoy the show.” Isaac told them before he continued to his own locker, oblivious to the stares and whispers directed his way.

Stiles was very, very glad that Scott had inadvertently gotten him onto the other side of the playing board because, under different circumstances, the poor junior cradling his arm and pressing an ice pack to his head, could have been him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Wiping down the counter and discarding the empty Ketamine bottle he'd just given to Stiles and Scott in a syringe meant for Jackson Whittemore, Alan Deaton sighed heavily, watching the light illuminating dust particles throughout his lab.

He rolled a small, glass vial filled with Adrianna Argent's blood between his hands. Only a moment before, he'd taken a look at the blood under his microscope and what he'd found, although shocking based on it's proportion, was sadly, exactly what he'd been expecting.

The chime on his door announced someone's arrival, but the lack of audible footsteps told him it wasn't one of his usual customers. “Hello?” He called out, still blind to whomever had chosen to enter his clinic. “Who's there?”

“Do you mind letting me in, Doc?” A feminine voice filled with a gravelly lilt similar to her mother's, asked. Deaton smiled at Adrianna as he came out into the lobby. Swinging open the gate, not thinking much of the fact that she hadn't been able to get through without his help, Deaton led her into the back.

“I assume you're here for the results on the blood sample I took last night?” He stated with his back turned to her, sorting through a drawer he'd already arranged twice that day.

“Yes,” Her confusion shone through in the way she hesitated in her reply. “And from your avoidance of me, I assume that you couldn't synthesize your little Kanima anti-venom.” She mocked him, clearly not one to enjoy beating around the bush.

“You're correct.” He admitted, gathering the courage to turn and place the vial of blood on the counter between them. “While I was attempting to do so, I found something else. Something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Does this have to do with—” She faltered, grasping the vial and staring at the black liquid somberly. “Can you explain what's been happening to me; why it's changed colour?”

“Yes.” Alan nodded, pulling out a petri dish he'd used to store his findings in. “In fact, I think I can explain that and much more.” He promised, sliding the dish across the table towards Adrianna.

Her fingers wrapped around the plastic container, lifting it and tilting the contents so that she could see them. “Have you been experiencing fatigue, trouble concentrating and emotional or physical instability?” He listed, trying to figure out how he was going to break the news to her.

Nodding along to his words, Adrianna's emerald green eyes locked onto his as she set the petri dish down with a soft thud. “What've you found, Deaton?” She whispered, suddenly afraid.

Clasping his hands together, Alan breathed in deeply before unscrewing the lid of the container before him and extracting a pinch of the powdery contents within. His spare hand reached over and opened Adrianna's palm so that he could gently give her the sample.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked as Adrianna stood back from her outstretched hand as though struck.

“I do.” She breathed stiffly.

“While I was separating and narrowing down specific portions of your blood,” He began to explain, warily watching the girl across from him as her lips pressed together so tightly, they appeared nearly white. “I came across a very familiar protein chain belonging to a species of flora.”

Swallowing thickly, Deaton forced himself to continue as perspiration built up on his brow. “More specifically, it's scientific name is Aconitum Delphinieae.” He shared tightly. “It goes by many names, aconite, monkshood, the Queen of poisons, blue rocket,”

“Wolf'sbane.” Adrianna finished grimly, her hand clenching into a fist around the purple granulations he'd given her.

“Yes, that is one of the more common.” Alan agreed sadly. “Growing up an Argent, I suppose you've heard that name quite often?”

Dismissing his attempts to tread lightly, Adrianna grit her teeth and went straight to the point. “So you found this in my blood?” Her jaw was clenched tightly and her aorta stood out on her neck.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn't have brought this to your attention. A small dose of a commonly used poison in a hunter; it's nothing out of the ordinary.” Deaton's gaze flicked over to the back exit of the clinic.

Though he remained collected on the outside, he didn't know what to expect from the Argent standing before him and that was even more frightening than dealing with Gerard, whom he was very familiar with. It was also one of the reasons he'd suspected what had just been proven, for some time. If Adrianna scared him, she was certain to have at least concerned Gerard.

“Ordinarily?” She rhetorically pondered. “I'm not ordinary, Alan—tell me how much you found.” Adrianna demanded, the rims of her eyes tinting red.

“Eighty.” He voiced after some time spent deliberating his options. She was owed the truth, he'd come to realize, especially since he was sure she'd been lied to and manipulated from the start.

Brows furrowing, Adrianna leaned across the table to bring herself closer to him. “Parts per million?” She wondered, clearly having at least a basic knowledge of scientific measurements.

Shaking his head, Deaton stood the vial of blood upright on the counter and the blackness within caught the overhead light, appearing inky and unnatural. He'd only ever seen a case of wolf'sbane poisoning this bad, once before, and it had not ended well.

“Eighty percent.” Alan corrected stonily, feeling his gut clenching as Adrianna's expression morphed away from it's confusion and towards horrified understanding.

She placed a hand over her lips and the digits shuddered where they lay. “There must be some kind of mistake.” She struggled to grasp for an excuse. “How long would I have to be— _exposed,_ ” Adrianna faltered on the word poisoned. “For it to get this bad?”

Running a hand over his bald head, Deaton grimaced as he mentally calculated a dosage that would have infected her bloodstream at such a rate, to have reached the proportions it had. “At least two to three weeks.” He finally concluded, unable to stare at Adrianna for too long. “I'm sorry.” He told her as he saw her come to accept the truth.

“How long do I have left?” She questioned clinically, detached, like the perfect soldier.

“A week, maybe less.”

Her footing faltered and Deaton rushed around the table to help steady her. Leaning against both him and the counter, a cold sweat seemed to break out across her skin.

“If you need time to come to terms with this,” He reminded her, guiding her to a nearby chair and setting her down. “We can always continue this conversation later.”

“No,” Adrianna denied, firmly shaking her head. “I must ask something else of you.” She strained to say as blood leaked out of her nose.

“Anything.” Deaton agreed, never one to turn away the sick or the dying, and she was both.

“Ever since,” She broke off, sitting straighter and wiping her nose with the tissue Deaton provided her before bravely uttering what anyone else would not be brave enough to face. “Since my grandfather, Gerard, has been poisoning me and my strength fails me,” Adrianna smiled, laughing in what Alan knew to be delayed shock.

“I need something to help,” Her eyes pleaded with him as her hands closed around his. “Something that'll make me strong enough to help Scott and save Jackson.”

“Adrianna,” He sighed, torn between giving in and obstinately denying her request for her own safety. “The only thing that I can think of giving you would be adrenaline and, while it will temporarily increase your strength and stamina, it's guaranteed to shorten the time you have left because of the stress it'll put your body under.”

“But it'll make me stronger?” Adrianna insisted, her gaze becoming hopeful, despite what he'd just told her.

“In theory,” Deaton tried to make her understand but she was just as stubborn as her mother, he was learning quickly, and she didn't let him finish.

“Good.” She resolutely decided. “Then I'll take it.”

Standing up from the seat, Adrianna didn't let her stare wander from Deaton's for a very long time, until he felt his objections sliding away and being replaced by numb respect for the young huntress before him.

“Alright,” He agreed, opening a nearby drawer and extracting several clear, glass bottles of pure epinephrine. “One injection of five cc's and _no more._ ” He stressed, handing her the bottles along with a sterilized needle. “Make sure you only use it when you really need it.” He reminded her.

Smiling gratefully, Adrianna pocketed the adrenaline and needle before wrapping her arms around Alan's waist. “Thank you.” She breathed into his lab coat before turning away.

“You know,” He said before she could get too far. “I've never met a demigod from your specific parentage before.” Deaton commented, recalling a time, long ago, when Kate had come to him with a young girl, in need of advice.

Facing him once more, Adrianna's eyes narrowed as she tried to puzzle out his words. “How do you know that?” She curiously asked him.

The right side of his lip pulled upwards in a conspiratorial smirk as he leaned against the door-frame just beyond the gate of ashwood in his clinic. “You're not the only one keeping secrets from Scott.” He told her confidentially.

There was a strange gleam in her eyes as she nodded her head at him. It was the kind of emotion Deaton had only ever seen on desperate, dangerous people; people he hadn't seen in decades, but had a feeling would soon reappear to wreak havoc over Beacon Hills.

Adrianna had the same furious anger scorching in her steps and the same wide set of her shoulders that came with the responsibility of a task far too great for one person to accomplish alone.

“What will you do?” He asked her as her hand reached out to pull open the glass door of the clinic. “Now that you know the truth?”

She looked just like Kate, when her lips pulled back in such a feral smile and her irises betrayed her wicked intentions. “What I've always done,” Adrianna's voice was tight with sorrow and pain, but it wasn't enough to soften her next words.

“Kill anyone who stands in my way.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“To the left. Hold your arm straighter. Don't hunch!” Allison's cousin instructed her, roughly jamming her palm between her shoulder blades and forcing Allison to stand to her full height.

“Much better.” Adrianna approved, circling behind, around, and in front of Allison as she appraised her stance. “This time, you might be able to stay upright.” She teased, lips curling at the end with good humor as Allison sighed heavily.

The gun was clumsy in her inexperienced hands. She felt like she might accidentally set it off if she breathed too deeply, but Adrianna had reassured her that the safety was on and her Argent genes should have been able to prevent her from _completely_ failing at the task assigned to her.

 _No pressure,_ Allison thought to herself as she resisted the urge to stand with her legs closer together. The last time she'd done that, Adrianna had swiped her foot out and knocked Allison to the ground, lecturing her about the importance of proper stance, balance, and a whole bunch of other things Allison didn't really understand yet.

“Tell me again, why I have to do this?” Allison asked her cousin, her grip around the pistol tightening along with the knot in her chest. Deep down, she already knew why, but she wanted to hear it from Adrianna's lips before she jumped to any possibly dangerous conclusions.

“It's just a precaution.” The younger girl reassured her, keeping her eyes fixed on Allison. “Gerard wants to make sure that if something goes wrong, you don't get hurt.”

“But nothing's going to go wrong, right?” Allison uncertainly repeated what her father had told her when she'd asked him. Ever since her dad had taken her to the hospital and interrogated her about the Kanima, showing her the bodies of the latest victims, Allison had felt an uneasy stirring in her gut. It had yet to fade.

“Provided everyone does what they're supposed to,” Adrianna's cold fingers pinched Allison's arm as the gun began to drop. “Everything should be fine.” She finished, stepping back and gesturing towards the pistol.

“Now focus on the task at hand,” Her cousin reprimanded her sternly, placing her hands on her hips. “Breath deeply for a few moments and try to acclimatize your body to the way the gun feels. Imagine that it's a part of you body—an extension of your hand.” She instructed, sounding as though the words had been spoken to her once.

Allison wondered who had taught Adrianna how to become a hunter. She didn't have a father, that Allison was aware of, and, although it was possible that Kate had done the job, she'd been away on what Allison only now realized were international hunts for the majority of the past five or six years, leaving hardly any time to train her daughter. Perhaps it'd been Gerard, or maybe she'd even taught herself. Nothing could surprise Allison nowadays, at least, she thought so.

The crisp, clean-cut command her cousin barked at her next reminded her about what she was supposed to be doing. “Now line up your sights with the target and pull the trigger.” She told her, raising an impatient brow as Allison delayed to complete her demand.

Breathing in deeply, just like whenever she was at the archery shooting range in her backyard, Allison's finger twitched over the trigger, not quite committing to firing, before she grit her teeth, breathed out and snapped her finger back over the metal crescent.

A sharp, ear-splitting bang echoed throughout the room and Allison's hearing buzzed and whined in complaint for a solid minute, by which time, Adrianna had already marched over to her side and smiled wide at the target on the opposite side of the storage room in the basement.

“Congratulations,” Adrianna clapped her on the back. “You've actually hit the target.”

Gathering the courage to look over at the wooden circle painted with different colour grids, Allison sighed heavily once she noticed where her bullet had landed. A hole the size of a coffee bean was shot through the circle three grids away from the edge and four grids away from the middle.

 _Not bad,_ she admitted to herself, _but not what I wanted either._

“Relax, you did well. Not everyone gets the bull's eye right away.” Adrianna consoled her, watching her crest-fallen expression with far-away eyes, like she wasn't all there. Since that afternoon, after school had gotten out, she'd been acting that way, but Allison couldn't figure out why. It was often hard to remember that she hardly knew her cousin, other than when she found it impossible to understand or decipher her moods.

“That's easy for you to say,” Allison rebuffed, setting the gun down on the table behind them. “You can probably hit every target in the center, without even breaking a sweat.”

Smirking arrogantly, Adrianna didn't deny Allison's statement. Hunching further, Allison found exhaustion and defeat playing at the back of her mind. She really didn't want to go to the party tonight, but she really didn't have a choice now that her father and grandfather were involved.

“I'll tell you a secret, Allison.” Her cousin suddenly said, her back turned away from Allison as she kneeled down to pick up the empty bullet shells that littered the floor. “But only if you promise to do something for me first.”

Curiosity growing, Allison nodded her head. “Okay,” She hesitantly replied, unsure what her cousin was planning. “What do you want me to do?”

Standing up and dusting off her worn jeans, Adrianna clasped both of Allison's hands around her own. Something cold and round was pressed into Allison's fingers but Adrianna didn't allow her to pull away until she'd said what she wanted to.

“Don't trust Gerard.” She breathed, as though afraid someone was listening in to their conversation.

Frowning, Allison separated her palms, revealing what she recognized to be a shotgun shell, the French fleur de Lise stamped onto the side. The tips of her fingers traced the flower as Adrianna's words bounced around inside her head.

“Why not?” Allison couldn't help bu wonder. From everything she'd seen and felt towards her grandfather, there had never been any distrust between them, nor was there any reason for there to be.

Moistening her lower lip with her tongue, Adrianna ran a hand through her hair as she debated something in her mind. “He's not what he seems, Allison.” She finally settled on uttering. “Please, just—promise me?”

Her eyes pleaded with Allison to agree, to make an oath that her heart told her was wrong. Allison considered herself to be smart and capable, but not many other perceived her in such a way; not Scott, Adrianna, or even her father. Gerard treated her differently. He gave her tasks to complete, asked her questions and actually expected her to answer, and he trusted her with the family's secret before anyone else, aside from Kate, had.

Shaking her head, Allison shoved the chunky shell back into Adrianna's hands. “I can't do that,” She pressed her lips together as she tried to explain herself, seeing the confusion painted on her cousin's face. “After Kate died,” Allison swallowed as Adrianna's stare narrowed on her. “Well, I realized how important family is. Friends and relationships change all the time, but family is always there.”

The hollows of Adrianna's cheeks seemed to pale considerably, casting shadows over her face and making her looked gaunt. Allison smiled apologetically and lightly reached out her hand to lay it across the other girl's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” She apologized. “But I can't let myself doubt the only thing that's been solid and honest from the very start.”

Her cousin gave a small, airy laugh then, and it was filled with a thousand different meanings that Allison couldn't grasp. The only thing she did understand, was that Adrianna was disappointed. Her stomach churned with guilt but her heart reared with anger. She bottled it up and saved it for later.

“It worked.” Adrianna whispered bitterly to no one in particular. “His plan actually worked.” Tears collected in her eyes and Allison felt a shot of concern as her cousin wobbled on her feet, nearly becoming hysterical. “I should have seen this coming.” She muttered under her breath. “I should have seen this coming.”

Grasping for anything that would return Adrianna to the way she'd been, Allison remembered the second part of the bargain Adrianna had struck with her. “What was the secret?” She asked her cousin, who abruptly breathed in deeply and straightened herself physically and emotionally.

“I can't tell you that.” She croaked, her voice hoarse and thick. “You didn't promise so I can't tell you.”

“Oh, come on,” Allison teased, bumping her shoulder against Adrianna's like they'd grown up together and not like they'd met less than a month ago. “I want to know.”

It seemed like Adrianna considered being stubborn and refusing to admit her secret, but then she cracked a grin and waved aside her reservations. “I suck at archery.” She shared, her mood returning to it's light, inconsequential tone. “From what I hear, you're the best Argent to have tried their hand at it since anyone can remember.” Adrianna complemented.

Blushing, Allison smiled and ducked her head. “Thanks.”

Looking over at the clock, Adrianna rolled her eyes in dismay as she hurriedly slipped into her coat, which had been hanging over a long, rusty nail protruding from the wall while she'd been training Allison how to shoot.

“Come on,” She waved for Allison to follow her through the door leading towards the landing of the basement, at the foot of the stairs leading down. “The briefing starts in five minutes.”

As Allison trailed behind Adrianna all the way to the shut door and she watched her cousin insert the key that unlocked the deadbolt, lift the metal latch and twist a combination lock, she found herself wondering why the small, rather insignificant room used for weapons storage and target practice was so heavily fortified. The chain-link fence separating half of the room from the other seemed to shudder as the door was pulled open by Adrianna.

Stepping through, Allison took note that her father and grandfather, along with about a dozen men, were gathered around a square table layered in ammunition, maps, and weapons of different kinds. They didn't notice her entry as she half-turned when Adrianna neglected to follow in after her.

“Aren't you coming?” Allison whispered, not wanting to intrude or disturb the serious conversation her father and Gerard were having about the night's operation.

“Nah,” Adrianna tried for nonchalance, waving her hand and wrinkling her nose at what she saw within the room. “I already know everything I need to. Gerard will explain more to you in a minute but I'll be meeting you at the club to help catch the Kanima.”

Startled, she nodded her head, agreeing to what her cousin told her. “Oh, alright.” Allison muttered, her eyes darting around the room as her grandfather looked up from the paper he'd been studying and smiled in greeting. “I'll see you then, I guess.” She raised her brows for confirmation from Adrianna and received a delayed nod.

There was something tightly wound about Adrianna in that moment, that set off warning bells in Allison's head. She'd seen a look like that before and, although it had been on someone else's face, the two girls were so alike that Allison could directly translate the emotions Lydia had shared with her after being bitten by Peter, as the same emotions Adrianna was trying to hide from her.

She was frightened, maybe even terrified, but she was outraged too, just as Lydia had been when Allison had tried to treat her delicately. The longer Allison's gaze stayed over Adrianna, the more tense and indistinct her cousin's thoughts became, until there was nothing left but a blank slate of indifference.

“Good luck.” Adrianna neutrally wished her, momentarily switching her keen vision away from Allison and towards Gerard. She didn't say any more, but her message was clear.

As Adrianna shut the door and Allison walked further into the briefing room, taking a seat on the rough, wooden staircase leading upstairs, she continued to think about her cousin's warning.

She'd asked her to promise not to trust Gerard, but at the time, Allison had found that she couldn't; more importantly, that she didn't want to. She still felt that, but the seed of doubt had been planted within her, and just like any slightly plausible idea, it remained at the back of Allison's mind, rattling and shaking the trust that had built itself between her and her grandfather until she really asked herself; _Can I trust him?_

Allison thought of the time he'd pressed his finger to her pulse and asked her question upon question. Or the order she knew came from him for her to be shown the bodies of the murdered couple. She remembered the fear that had spiked in her heart on each occasion and she knew, deep down in the place where she kept all the grim truths she'd ever learned about those she cared about, that Adrianna had a point.

But then, Gerard had also been the one to vouch for her for this mission. He'd been the one to integrate her into the family's tradition and he'd even arranged for her to begin training with his best hunter.

With a slight shake of her head and a whimsical, almost astonished smile, Allison swept away all her doubts and listened to her father as he explained how things would be accomplished while she did her part and searched for Jackson.

 _Everything's going to be alright_ , Allison felt the need to promise herself. She'd known all along that she, Scott, and Stiles couldn't handle something this dangerous by themselves.

Besides, Gerard was an old man. If he did turn out to be what Adrianna said he was, Allison was sure she could take care of it.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Oh, shoot.” Stiles complained as the heavy, garbage bag of mountain ash sagged in his grip. Scott felt his fingers twitch by their sides as he had to remind himself that he couldn't help Stiles; not this time.

“You okay?” He asked instead of offering his assistance.

Looking up from where he'd been focused on the stretched-out, slightly torn bag, Stiles furrowed his brow and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, why?” He replied.

Shuffling his muddy converse, Scott knew what his best friend was trying to do. It was what he always did when he wanted to avoid touchy-feely subjects. Still, he pressed on. “You just didn't say anything the whole way here.” Scott pointed out, searching for an answer—a real answer—as covertly as he could.

“No, I'm fine.” Stiles brushed off the unspoken questions, flattening the air between them. “Just grab the other bag.” He grunted, straining to lift the bag he'd nearly broken on his first attempt to move the ash.

“I can't.” Scott lamented apologetically. “Remember, Deaton said you have to do it alone.”

Sighing heavily, Stiles waved his hands in the air as the full weight of his part in their plan hit him. “Okay,” He told Scott, who was distracted by a familiar scent and barely listened to what his friend was telling him. “This plan is really starting to suck.”

Tilting his head to the side and breathing in deeply, Scott looked around him for confirmation that who he thought the scent belonged to was actually there. Sure enough, a faint but distinct voice filtered into his ears and made his heart plummet.

“No.” He tried to deny, feeling panic and confusion probing through his once logical, precise thoughts. “Not here, not now.” Scott complained, concern for the girl who'd won over his heart forcing him to abandon Stiles to his task and rush inside the warehouse, crashing through sweaty, dancing bodies and squinting against the bright strobe lights as he peeked over heads from an unpopulated corner of the warehouse.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, standing awkwardly beside Matt, as she'd said she would be, was Allison. Her eyes caught Scott's as she pulled her yellow cardigan closer around her and her lips pressed into a thin line as she read his expression. He'd known all about the fake date with Matt, but he hadn't expected for her be at the rave where they were planning to drug Jackson.

“Matt, give me a second, okay?” She asked the brown-haired, geeky photographer that Scott was really starting to dislike—almost to the point that he knew Stiles did.

Weaving her way between people so that she could reach him, Scott felt his nerves shuddering and threatening to snap. She couldn't be here; Allison would only get hurt.

“What are you doing?” He forcefully demanded of her once she'd reached his side. The way she physically shrunk away from him, as though afraid, made him regret his tone for a moment.

Looking around her, Allison shook her head, clearly confused. “You told me to go out with him.” She reminded him, slipping her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls.

A shadow flickered out of the corner of Scott's vision, migrating through the crowd and stealing away his attention. “Are you here alone?” He suddenly asked her, grabbing hold of Allison's arm and dragging her further away from the crowd.

“What?” She stepped back, baffled. “No, I came with Matt.” She repeated, following Scott's gaze out towards the other moving bodies.

“Not Matt.” He disagreed, momentarily taking his eyes away from the sea of partying kids and back onto Allison. “Is someone else here with you?”

“Relax, wolfie.” A voice interrupted Allison before she could wrap her lips around her answer. “It's just me.”

Spinning around, Scott came face to face with Adrianna Argent. Growling low in his throat, he swiped his hand out to rip his claws through her face. An instant before he could draw blood, a shiny, very sharp dagger came into contact with the palm of his hand, stabbing deep enough to hurt but leaving less than a few drops of blood to puddle in the crevices of his skin.

“Now, that's not very nice, Scott.” She chastised him, oblivious to the nervous air that had settled around Allison, who was quietly studying the interaction between them. “I'm here to help you, remember.”

Shaking his hand out by his side, eyes still glowing amber with his rage, Scott reluctantly took a step back. She was right, after all, but that didn't mean that he had to like it.

“What's going on?” Allison spoke up, even more lost than she'd been before.

Smiling lopsidedly, Adrianna's kohl lined eyes gave her a dangerous, cat-like appearance as she placed one of her hands on her right hip. “Didn't he tell you?” Scott found that Adrianna's honey-sweet, Cheshire grin was far scarier when her lips were blood red. “I've gone to the dogs.”

Laughing at her own joke, Adrianna didn't appear bothered that Allison hadn't gotten her meaning. Scott shook his head and breathed a deep sigh to try to restrain himself from inflicting harm over the frustrating girl he now called an ally.

“She's helping us to catch the Kanima.” He explained for Allison's sake, his heart beginning to pump faster as he remembered the main reason he was talking to Allison in the first place. “And I don't care about your date with Matt, it's just that you can't be here. We have a plan.”

Furrowing her brows, a muscle in Allison's lip twitched in disbelief and shock. “You have a plan?” She repeated, something widening in her brown eyes; something like fear. “Okay, okay. My father and Gerard, they're coming here.”

“What?” Scott retorted incredulously, taking a step away from her and glaring at Adrianna who simply shrugged her shoulders.

“Don't look at me,” She informed him distantly, sniffing in disdain as he narrowed his gaze on her. “I'm not Gerard's only source of information, you know.”

Frowning as realization hit him, Scott turned to look at Allison, who was avoiding his eyes, clutching her hands together in front of her. “What did you tell them?” He asked her.

“I—I told them.” She admitted sheepishly, bending her knees back and forth and folding her cardigan around and around her clenched fist.

“Allison!” He barked, spreading his hands out wide in front of him and resisting the urge to punch a hole through something solid. He couldn't believe that out of all the people that could have betrayed him, namely a huntress with murderous tendencies and a clouded past, in the end, Allison was to blame.

“I—” She stuttered to reason with him as Adrianna's heart-rate spiked. “I had to tell them.” She told him brokenly, biting her lip.

“Oh my god.” He breathed, the full scope of what Allison had done hitting him at the exact same time it hit her cousin.

“They know it's Jackson.” She finished for him, the copper and floral scent of her blood invading his nostrils as her fingernails made holes in her palms. “You told them who the Kanima was.” Adrianna nearly growled, her eyes lighting up with green fire. “Do you have any idea what I had to go through, to keep that from them?” She snarled, baring her teeth and suddenly launching herself across the distance separating her from Allison, her arms outstretched to do damage.

Slamming Allison into the brick wall several feet behind them, Adrianna's fingernails dug into to other girl's shoulders as she pushed her cousin again and again into the solid structure, muttering something about pain and fire. Jumping between the two girls and wrapping his arms around Adrianna's waist as she thrashed and buckled her weight against him, Scott focused on keeping Allison safe from her cousin and not on the horrible disloyalty his girlfriend had just shown them.

“People are dying, Scott.” Allison said in a small voice, swallowing thickly as Adrianna went still against him. Her quiet anger was more frightening than her boisterous rage as he smelt what felt to him like vengeance, brewing beneath the surface. “What am I supposed to do?” Allison meekly asked him, obviously shaken in more ways than one by what her cousin had done to her.

In her heart, he knew she'd had good intentions, but telling her grandfather was not the way to save Jackson or the people he was going after; it would just guarantee his death. “You're supposed to trust me.” He indignantly told her, tired of fighting a battle he could see he wasn't going to win when there were lives at stake.

“I trust you more than anyone.” Allison reassured him, clarity washing over her as she understood just what she'd done.

“We've—we had a plan.” Scott muttered to himself, trying to go over the steps in his mind but finding that his brain was muddled and cloudy.

“So do they.” She tried to excuse, desperately searching for a way to right her mistake.

“This isn't going to work.” Scott found himself saying. He didn't quite know what he was referring to; their plan to catch the Kanima, or his secret relationship with Allison. At that moment, he didn't want to know.

“What do you want me to do?” Allison begged, her voice turning shrill. “Okay, I can—I can fix it.” She chased after him as he begun to walk away from her, his hand still enclosed around one of Adrianna's arms. “Please, please Scott. Just tell me.”

“You've done enough.” Adrianna dourly snapped, whirling on her cousin and shrugging out of Scott's grip, rubbing her arm as though he'd bruised her. It surprised him as he remembered that she'd been able to withstand much more with barely any sign of injury, when she'd first arrived.

Torn between going back to comfort Allison and finding a way to deter her from following him, he grimaced as the music became unbearably loud for his enhanced hearing and he had to shout over the drums to hear his own words.

“Just stay out of the way.” He told her, heading in the direction he knew Isaac and Erica would be looking for Jackson.

“Scott!” Allison cried once more, trying her best to follow him through the throngs of swaying people. “Scott, wait!”

His temper lashed out of his control as irritation and bitterness stung his tongue and spelled out words he'd never meant to say in such a caustic way. “Stay out of the way!” He boomed.

Allison stood still after that, among the hundreds of dancing forms, and her feet didn't move to go towards him. Scott couldn't help but thinking that he'd lost her forever. As her cousin, Adrianna walked beside him with purpose, he considered how strange it was that he'd swapped one Argent for another.

The question was, which Argent would he rather have on his side, Adrianna or Allison? Making that choice would surely be difficult, unfortunately, he feared it had already been made for him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her chest felt like it was on fire and her eyes were stinging worse than a splash of Hydra venom on an open wound. Adrianna's palms were sore and longing for a body part to wrap around and squeeze, preferably belonging to her traitorous cousin, although she was certain Scott would never let her go through with it.

Standing next to him as he brought out the syringe and showed it to Isaac, Adrianna had to fight the urge to snatch the shiny, metal contraption and thrust it into someone's neck. Breathing deeply, she shook her head to rid herself of as many violent thoughts she possibly could before tuning into Scott's conversation with the curly-haired beta.

“Why me?” Isaac asked, frowning in confusion as he hesitantly accepted the syringe from Scott. Twirling the device in his long, dexterous fingers, Isaac licked his lips uncertainly, his eyes flittering between Scott and Adrianna.

“Because I've got to make sure that Argent doesn't completely ruin the plan.” Scott responded, nervous jitters clinging to his voice and making him speak faster than he normally did.

Isaac furrowed his brow, looking straight at Adrianna and bringing to light Scott's slight miscommunication. “Not her,” He quickly corrected. “I mean Gerard and Chris.”

“And before you open your mouth to accuse me of ratting your plan to my family,” Adrianna spoke up defensively. “I didn't say a word.”

Shaking his head, Isaac's light blue eyes met with Adrianna's and she saw, clear as day, that he believed her. “I didn't think it was you.” He assured her, sounding more shy and withdrawn than she'd ever heard him.

Startled by the boy's honesty, Adrianna took a step back, her eyes wide and her lips parted in preparation for a witty rebuttal she no longer had use for. “Okay, look,” Scott interrupted, clearly displeased by the time they'd wasted. “You better do it intravenously, which means in the vein.” He unhelpfully instructed.

Averting her eyes from Isaac's, Adrianna suddenly found the syringe in front of her, in the very same boy's hands, to be a very interesting sight. Her cheeks felt hot and her stomach clenched unpleasantly the longer she felt Isaac's stare on her. “When you find him, you pull back on this plunger right here.” Scott continued to tell them, pointing out the plunger he was referring to as Isaac finally looked away from Adrianna and towards the device he was holding.

“Administering the injection from the side of the neck or the shoulder would probably be the easiest to accomplish.” Adrianna commented, glancing over at Scott as he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, so you find a vein,” Scott listed, sounding as though he was reassuring himself more than he was Isaac or Adrianna. “You jam it in there and you pull back on the trigger.” He finished, looking around himself like he expected to see hunters swarming the warehouse any second.

“Be careful.” Scott whispered to Isaac seriously and a pang went off in Adrianna's very alive, very wounded heart. It had been a very long time since someone had wondered about her safety, longer still since they'd told her about it.

“Oh,” Isaac sarcastically expressed, his lips thinning with emotions that Adrianna was intimately familiar with—it was in fact, exactly what she was feeling at that moment—self commiseration and anger. “I doubt it'll even slightly hurt him.”

“No,” The other boy disagreed, shaking his head. “I mean you. I don't want you to get hurt.” He said as though it were the simplest thing in the world, and not a random act of kindness Isaac had hardly been spared before.

There was a moment where Isaac's surprise was palpable to Adrianna, from the way his eyes widened, stretching to how his brows furrowed and his head tilted. She could feel it in the tips of her fingers and the stabbing pain that had been present in her heart since she'd been told exactly what Gerard had been doing to her since she'd come to Beacon Hills.

Placing an unusually delicate hand over Isaac's arm, Adrianna stepped between him and Scott. “Don't worry,” She told the boy with a slightly crooked jaw. “I'll make sure he stays out of trouble.”

Nodding in affirmation, Scott wasted no further time, rushing away to supposedly handle her uncle and grandfather. Although Adrianna knew he had no chance of doing that alone, or even if he had Derek and Boyd's help, she didn't feel the need to warn him of such as he disappeared through one of the many back doors in the warehouse turned club.

“Well, then.” Adrianna pronounced, removing her hand from Isaac's sleeve as though the extended contact had stung her, when really she'd forgotten she was even touching him at all. “Hand over the syringe and I'll take it from here.”

She prayed in vain that he didn't notice the way her heart was galloping in her chest, or the rush of warm, sticky sweet emotions she felt invading her senses and clouding her thoughts towards the blue-eyed beta.

Hiding the syringe behind his back, Isaac distanced himself from her, eyes narrowed in confusion as he tried to understand why she was deviating from the plan. “Um,” He stuttered uncertainly as Adrianna lifted an impatient brow. “Scott told me to do it, remember?” He asked her, sounding as though he wasn't certain whether to stand his ground or hand over the syringe and give in.

Rolling her eyes as she expressed her exasperation, Adrianna placed a hand over her hip and began to tap her shoe against the concrete floors. “Isaac, Isaac, Isaac.” She chastised lightly, taking advantage of his uncertainty and overpowering it with confidence she'd gained by experience. “You don't really think that Scott stands a chance against the rest of my family, do you?” She wondered condescendingly.

Circling him, giving him hardly more than a second to think over her words, Adrianna backed Isaac against a pillar and pressed one of her palms flat against his chest. “Scott doesn't know what he's doing, Isaac.” She shared with him, forcing her gaze to be trustworthy and not devious. “He's in over his head. All of you are.”

Stepping back, Adrianna lazily extracted one of her many knives from within the inside lining of her mother's jacket, twirling the blade in her hand and using it to pick at her cuticles. Isaac stared at the shiny surface, silent but obviously considering everything she did and said. It was one of the things she liked about him. He looked before leapt; at least, he usually did.

“Why don't you just let me handle this. I can take care of Jackson without killing him and your lives go back to normal.” Adrianna coerced, lifting her eyes to meet Isaac's reserved stare. “You're just a kid. Scott said it himself, the Kanima could hurt you.”

Pushing off of the pillar, Isaac advanced on her, his mood turning stormy. “You're my age, aren't you?” He rhetorically phrased. “How come you think that you can handle the Kanima, and I can't?” Isaac indignantly wondered.

Sighing heavily, Adrianna slipped the celestial bronze knife back inside her jacket and ran an anxious hand through her hair. “I don't think I can, I _know_ I can.” She corrected him, staring off into the crowd to avoid looking directly at Isaac, for fear that all her secrets would come tumbling from out of her lips.

“Can't you just give me a straight answer?” Isaac growled angrily, reaching out and wrapping his hands around her wrists. “Just this once, I want to know the truth. All of it.” He pressed, shaking her so that she would meet his intense gaze.

Against her will, Adrianna felt her eyes begin to sting and knew without doubt that they were rimmed red. Still, she refused to cry so easily. “I can't tell you that.” She held resolute to what she'd learned so many years ago. “You'll think I'm crazy.”

“Me, the werewolf?” Isaac dubiously questioned, clearly not understanding how completely insane the truth would sound, even to him. “Try me.” He prompted, still grasping for an answer she would not give him.

“Besides,” Adrianna waved away his words as though they were nothing more than steam in the air. “The Kanima, at least, Jackson just before he becomes the Kanima, seems to be attracted to me.” She nonchalantly admitted, severing their previous line of conversation in one clean strike.

“What?” His expression became one of thinly veiled anger and what could have been jealousy. It brought a sly smile to Adrianna's lips.

“Yeah, didn't I mention it?” She goaded, walking her index and middle fingers across Isaac's shoulders tauntingly. “Yesterday, just before Jackson went after Allison, I confronted him in the locker room showers. I tried to warn him about the danger he could be in if my family ever found out that he was the Kanima, but he seemed to have other ideas as to what we could do with our time.”

Smirking as Isaac roughly shoved her away from him, refusing to meet her surprised gaze, Adrianna moistened her lips for a moment before backing off, intrigued by the unusual response he was having but not willing to risk igniting any more of his anger for the sake of her amusement. She hadn't expected him to care about her, but, it seemed she'd wormed her way deeper under the werewolf's skin than she'd realized.

“I thought that Erica would have told you all about it.” She offhandedly remarked, her tone returning to it's normal lilt. “What matters is that I think I can distract the Kanima, Jackson—whoever he is when he's between personalities.” Adrianna corrected herself gruffly. “Hopefully long enough to put him down.”

“And what,” A new voice spoke, approaching from out of the riotous crowd. “We just stand around and watch you take on an eight foot Kanima with claws, teeth, and a very dangerous tail, all by yourself?”

“Yes.” Adrianna patronizingly retorted as she turned around to face the newcomer. “Erica, that's exactly what I want you to do.”

Pushing himself in front of Erica, Isaac's palm lay flat across Adrianna's stomach as he simultaneously held her back and did his best to keep both of their attention's on him while only looking at the huntress behind him. “If this is your way of protecting me,” He said, quickly glancing over at Erica as he started again. “If this is your way of protecting _us_ , I appreciate the gesture, but it's not necessary. We're not the delicate humans you're used to. We can handle this.” Isaac reassured her, the heat from his hand leeching into Adrianna's cold body and tickling her skin.

For a moment she had trouble concentrating. Trouble looking away from Isaac's determined yet gentle stare. She had trouble stopping herself from moving forward an inch, as though to breach the gap between them and do something foolish. Then, Adrianna remembered herself and, instead of doing any of the sappy, romantic, immature things that crossed her mind, she nodded mutely and handed the syringe back to Isaac.

“You're right.” Adrianna reluctantly agreed, pulling an elastic off of her wrist and wrapping it through her hair so the curly tendrils no longer hung in and around her face. “But if any of you gets hurt—even so much as a paper cut—you're out. Do you understand me?” She asked the two betas before her.

Erica's chin bobbed as she crossed her arms in front of her, watching as Isaac did the same, lagging behind a moment before taking his hand away from Adrianna's torso. “So, you must be some big shot hunter in your family to want to take on a Kanima on your own.” The blonde girl theorized, narrowing her eyes into near slits as she studied Adrianna.

Her lips twitched, wanting to rise into a smile but Adrianna didn't let it. Her hands slid behind her, lightly feeling the daggers she had tucked into her belt. “You could say that.” She verified ambiguously.

“What happens if you get hurt, huh?” Erica challenged, widening her stance as though she was ready to pounce at a moment's notice. “What happens if you're not as strong as you say you are? What then?”

Fear lodged in Adrianna's throat and, even though she swallowed thickly soon after, the feeling didn't go away. “You don't have to concern yourself with that. It won't be a problem.” She replied, thinking about all the times her stamina had waned and her strength had abandoned her during a fight. It had been stolen from her, leeched from her ounce by ounce until she hadn't a drop left.

“It's already been taken care of.” Adrianna ominously breathed to herself as Isaac and Erica lead the way through the crowd, towards Jackson.

Retrieving her own needle from within her pocket, Adrianna pulled the cap off with her teeth and plunged the small dose of epinephrine straight into her heart. She gasped through rasping lungs and clenched, revitalized muscles, curling her toes in her boots and cracking her knuckles.

The needle fell out of her hand, clattering to the floor as it was lost within the horde of dancing, kicking, stomping feet. Adrianna set her sights on Jackson Whittemore and didn't look back, not even when she felt the cold fingers of death sliding down her spine, warning her of what was to come.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The bag was heavy, incredibly so, and Stiles was by no means a strong kid. Sure, he'd done plenty of spectacular, amazing, courageous things in his time, but none of them had ever involved physical strength.

Panting as he rounded the corner, his steel blue jeep in sight, Stiles puffed up his chest and continued to pour out the ash, feeling like a complete idiot. As the bag got lighter and lighter, _and lighter still_ , instead of feeling relief, Stiles felt a pang of fear and panic set in.

 _I don't have enough_ , Stiles realized once the bag was nearly empty. In front of him was a very long, very daunting stretch of pavement he had yet to cover. As he shook out the plastic bag into his hand, his heart plummeted when all he got was a small handful of the black powder.

“Oh, no.” He voiced his concern to the abandoned cars around him and the chilling, nearly winter air. Fishing his cellphone out of his back pocket, Stiles dialed a number he'd memorized a long time ago and impatiently waited for the voice of his best friend to bring reason and calm back to his shattered night.

“Scott, pick up.” He pleaded with the electronic dial tone that told him to leave a message after the beep. “Pick up now. Look, I got like, fifty feet of ash left, and I'm out. Okay?” Stiles' voice pitched with frustration. “So you've got to get your wolf ass down here to help me because I don't know what to do.”

Looking around himself, Stiles clenched the handful of ash that he still had tightly. He'd known from the start that this task was too big for him; too much pressure. He should never have accepted it. “And I'm just standing out here and I'm—” Stiles stuttered, nearly jumping a whole foot into the air as loud bangs and pops invaded the quiet.

“And I'm all alone and I'm hearing gunfire and werewolves, and I'm—and I'm standing here like a frickin' idiot all by myself,” He complained, his voice turning hoarse with fear and anger. “With a handful of magic fairy dust; and I don't have enough. Okay?”

Shutting the flip-phone, Stiles licked his lips as he bounced on his toes. “Okay, come on, think.” He told himself, urging the suddenly rusty gears in his brain to start moving. “Um, okay. He said you've got to believe. You need to believe.” Stiles breathed as Deaton's advice came to mind.

“Come on, believe, Stiles.” He tried to encourage. “Just, uh—picture it.” Stiles grasped for something that sounded less like a stupid therapy session and more like a supernatural handbook to his problem.

“Just imagine it working, okay?” Stiles asked himself, slowly extending the palm of ash out to his side and preparing for an immense bout of disappointment. “Just—imagine.” He repeated, closing his eyes as he began to walk across the distance between him and the line of ash where he'd started.

In his mind, Stiles tried to envision the ash coating the entire space in front of him. Loosening his fingers, Stiles felt the ash beginning to drain from his palm. He had to force himself not to think about how many steps he was taking; he knew there were too many for what he had left.

Sighing deeply and trying to think about the analogy Deaton had told him about golfing, he found himself stretching out his hand as the ash was now completely used. Stiles kept his eyes closed for another second, grimacing in anticipation as he slowly peeked beneath his lashes at what would no doubt be a forty foot distance of ash-less blacktop, instead of fifty.

What he saw, however, was one continuous, unbroken, blessfully intact line of ash. “Yes!” He cheered, his face lighting up with unprecedented joy.

Pulling his fist back, he could hardly believe his eyes, although he knew they were telling him the truth. Dancing around on the pavement, Stiles was so euphoric that he slid up onto the hood of a random, parked car. The alarm wailed throughout the ally, startling Stiles enough for him to dismount from the hood and take a few steps back.

Stretching out his hands as though to calm the vehicle, Stiles licked his lips, nodding his head as he surveyed his work. _I did it,_ he acknowledged happily. Gunfire and angry snarls, along with howls of pain, stole away his moment of self-vindication and Stiles didn't need to be told twice to get out of the street before he became road kill in the shoot-out between the Argents and the werewolves of Beacon Hills.

**#-#-#-#-#**

She was infuriating in every way Isaac could imagine. Her appearance, her personality, even the way she danced was infuriating. _Alright,_ he admitted to himself, _she's not actually infuriating._ What she really was, was something far more dangerous. Adrianna was captivating, addicting, and even a little bit poisonous to him. The worst part was, he didn't care.

Didn't care about his mild obsession. Didn't care about the after-effects. He didn't even care if a dose of her would end up killing him. He was too far gone. In the flashing lights of the dance floor around them, with people pressing in on him from every direction, closing him into a tiny, confined patch of free floor, Isaac felt, for the first time in forever, truly free of his past.

Adrianna came closer to him, swaying her hips to the beat of the music blaring overhead and even though Isaac knew she was only doing it to get closer to Jackson, he let himself imagine that it was just him and her. Erica wasn't closing in on the other side, wrapping her arms around Jackson's shoulders and letting her hands wander over the boy's chest; she wasn't even there.

The huntress, with her hair piled in a clumsy pony-tail and her eyes as dark as the shadows that wound around her every step, was the only person present aside from him. She wasn't sharing her attention with Jackson, sliding her hand over his chest and leaning in close to whisper nonsense into his hear; she was with Isaac, staring at him as she drew him nearer, fisting his shirt in her hand and radiating heat, for once, from her body to his.

Until it _wasn't_ just her and him, and Isaac had to clench his fists and clamp his jaw shut to keep himself from doing something stupid and very painful to the boy who had his lips locked with Adrianna's. Jackson might have been the reason they were there, he might have been in desperate need of saving or, as Derek would have it, an execution, but he was not going to steal away Adrianna right from under Isaac's nose.

It was as though he'd lost his senses. Isaac watched as Jackson's hands slid along the inside of Adrianna's shirt, higher and higher until Isaac couldn't control himself any longer. With as much delicacy as he could scrounge up from the fragments of his logical mind, Isaac wound his arms around Adrianna's waist and pulled her towards him, out of Jackson's possessive clutches.

As Erica swiftly took Adrianna's place, Isaac ignored the huntress' annoyed glare and ducked his head into the crook of her long, swan-like neck. She tasted sweet and salty from the accumulation of sweat that was beading down her forehead, along with a certain perfume she'd never been without, before.

“Isaac,” Adrianna whispered through clenched teeth, tensing as his lips found a tender spot on her shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” She breathed raggedly, her fingernails digging into his biceps and warning him to stop. The effect the pinpricks of pain had on him was quite the opposite.

Growling low in his throat, Isaac pulled away from Adrianna's skin only to fervently crash his lips onto hers with a hunger that boiled in the pit of his stomach and seemed to be insatiable.

At first, Adrianna was unresponsive, even violent; biting down on his lower lip and slamming her foot into his toes; but then, it seemed like a switch had been flipped in her as, eventually, she kissed him back just as desperately.

He felt how torn she was about him—about all of them—and he could practically taste her anger as it scorched through her veins and lit her body on fire. There was sadness there too, on the tip of her tongue, hiding where no one could find it if they didn't push beneath the layers. It was so intense to him, that he felt it as his own.

Isaac wondered what the huntress could have gone through, to feel so hopeless and betrayed. This was more than simple high-school drama, this was serious, maybe even life-threatening.

As he separated from Adrianna to breathe, Isaac studied her features, committing them to memory. Her pupils were tiny black specks in the lush forest of her green irises. Her cheeks were flushed but the rest of her face was deathly pale, aside from her blood-red lips and charcoal lined eyes. She looked at him unlike anyone else ever had; as though he was a particularly difficult puzzle she was trying to solve and she'd only just realized that everything she thought she knew, was wrong about him.

Her chest rose and fell—they were so close that each inhale forced them to touch each other—and her hand reached out to trace the contours of his face, lingering over his left cheek, his lips, and then dropping down to his shoulder.

“I am in so much trouble.” Adrianna whispered, almost to herself as the side of her lip twitched, either to smile or frown. Isaac never found out which, as less than a second later, Jackson dug his claws into Erica's arm and threw her to the floor.

Hissing, Jackson turned on them at the same time that Adrianna extricated herself from Isaac's arms, shiny knives already held tightly in her hands. “He belongs to me.” The half-transformed Kanima threatened, clicking it's tongue menacingly.

“I don't know who you're talking about,” Adrianna interjected, her armor already back in place and concealing what she felt and thought from Isaac. “But no one belongs to you. Got that?” She snapped, twisting the handles of her knives so the blades were in line with each of the rest of her arms.

With a throaty screech that chilled Isaac's blood and shuddered in his bones, the Kanima charged, slamming into Adrianna's shoulders and knocking her to the floor. Isaac's heart seemed to pause in it's beating as the huntress' figure was obscured from him. He feared that she'd been shredded beneath Jackson, that she hadn't been as strong as she'd promised.

Then, he heard the Kanima wail out in pain and Adrianna's knives glinted in the bursts of light around them, and he realized that, unlike the rest of them, Adrianna actually knew what she was doing.

Beside him, Erica limped to her feet, cradling her side. She moved to join the fight but Isaac stopped her, shaking his head sternly. “Give yourself time to heal.” He pointed to her most likely broken ribs. “Remember what she said, you're out for now.”

Flaring her nostrils in silent dispute, Erica glared at him as she stepped back. “You trust her too much.” She told him roughly, stepping back so that she was nearly lost in the oblivious crowd that had yet to catch onto the battle going on right beside them.

Adrianna had her arms wrapped around Jackson's neck, holding him steady to the ground as she tried to gain the upper hand. Isaac had nearly forgotten that, not only was she pretty, but she was also very good at hurting people. Pulling the syringe out of his pocket, Isaac wove between the crowd as he tried to get to Adrianna before Jackson fully transformed.

Shoving people out of his way, Isaac's palms began to sweat as Jackson struggled against Adrianna, clawing into the flesh of her arms and drawing black blood from the wounds. Tripping over someone's foot, the syringe was thrown from Isaac's sticky hands, skidding across the floor a few feet before stopping.

Isaac crawled after the syringe, mindful that Jackson had finally broken free from Adrianna's restraint and was stalking away, towards his next target. His heart pounded in his ears as his fingers finally enclosed around the metal handle of the syringe and he didn't have time to check whether Adrianna was alright before going after Jackson.

As he launched himself forward, onto Jackson's shoulders, encircling the boy's neck and pressing the sharp tip of the syringe into the side of Jackson's neck and pulling back on the plunger, Isaac's tense muscles and thundering heartbeat didn't ease until the Kanima sagged in his grasp, unconscious.

His eyes met Adrianna's where she sat on the floor a little ways away, dusting herself off as she rose to her feet and smiling proudly once she approached him, taking part of the load and following after a strangely silent Erica, into a small storage closet at the back of the warehouse.

Isaac felt the adrenaline in his blood beginning to diminish, and with it, the unnatural focus and sharpened senses that had helped him to complete his part of the plan. He wondered how Adrianna could still stand, after everything, as they sat Jackson down on a wobbly chair and wrapped some abandoned cords and rope around the unconscious boy's form—just in case.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, reaching out to wipe away some of the sweat glittering on her brow.

She tensed but didn't move away from his touch. Nodding her head stiffly, Adrianna's hands brushed over her arms lightly, her fingers coming away stained with her oddly tinted blood.

There was a tremor in her fingers as she gazed at the wounds, and the stuttering of her movements as she tried and failed to remove her jacket, was enough for Isaac to understand that she was more effected than she'd let on.

He yearned to hold her close to him again, to feel the heat of her skin against his, but he knew that wouldn't be possible. There was a new distance between them now, that had nothing to do with which side they were on. Ripping off the bottom segment of his shirt and handing it to her, Isaac chose to respect the space between them as he allowed her to tend to her own wounds.

“I'm fine.” Adrianna muttered, her jacket wrapped around her waist as she expertly dabbed and bandaged the wounds that Isaac now saw were not very deep.

“Really?” Erica voiced from where she was standing silently at the other side of the storage room. “Because I could have sworn that those cuts dug deep enough to graze bone.”

Wrapping her arms around herself and then shaking the appendages out by her sides, Adrianna stood tall as she regarded Erica. She looked like a medieval warrior, with her wild, frizzy hair let loose from it's ponytail and the scraps of Isaac's shirt clinging, bloody, to her arms like sleeves. Isaac didn't even care, right then, that she was probably still lying to him and everyone else.

“You were mistaken.” She chided as though Erica was a child. “Besides, I'm no werewolf. I can't heal like you guys can.” Turning her head so the other girl couldn't see, Adrianna winked at Isaac.

He felt himself falling, just like Derek had warned him not to, and he found that he didn't want to do anything to stop it. He wanted to know everything about her, to claim every scar, wound, and broken piece of her thawing heart like it was his own.

She was like his own personal drug, like a brand of wolf'sbane bred specifically to ensnare and then kill him. Smiling back at her with a thousand possibilities and hopes flashing through his mind, Isaac finally understood why he'd been so attracted to her in the first place.

Adrianna was the only person that could ever understand him, the only woman who'd been bent and snapped and tortured in as many ways as he had, and, if he had any say in the matter, he'd never let anyone hurt her again; not her family or his pack—not even Derek.

In that moment, he'd have taken a bullet for her in less than a heartbeat.

The only question was, would she do the same?

**#-#-#-#-#**

He was staring at her and he wouldn't look away, not when Jackson groaned or twitched in his bonds, not when Erica tried to irately begin a conversation with him and him alone, and not even when Stiles came crashing through the door.

“Uh, no, no, no! Just me, it's just me.” The spastic, nervous-wreck of a boy hastily told Erica as she pinned him to the wall by his throat. “Don't freak.” He weakly muttered, glancing around at the rest of them for help.

Still, Isaac's eyes were on her. Adrianna shook off her discomfort and buried the fondness that had been growing for him in frustrating proportions as of late, to save Stiles' ass from being squashed.

“Erica, let him go.” She commanded tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose as a headache began to set in. “He smells that way because of the mountain ash.”

As Erica stood back, releasing her weight from Stiles' neck, the boy nearly collapsed onto the floor, catching himself just before he looked like an even bigger fool. “How could you possibly know what he smells like to me?” Erica turned around to retort harshly. She'd been getting more and more agitated the longer she spent trying to win back Isaac's focus, only for him not to respond. It had only been a matter of time until she exploded.

Rolling her eyes, Adrianna raised her brows, silently asking Stiles if he was alright, before taking her time to reply to a furious Erica. “When you spend most of your childhood with a knife in your hand, as opposed to a doll or a soother, you tend to learn a thing or two about werewolves.” She patronized as gently as she thought was safe.

Baring her fangs, Erica snarled in warning as her now fully healed side expanded and contracted with her heavy breathing. “Oh my god,” Stiles interrupted what could have been a very serious altercation, seemingly without even noticing he'd done it. “I'd forgotten how scary you were.”

Huffing out an amused laugh, Adrianna slapped her hand across Stiles' nearby shoulder. “You never cease to amaze me.” She idly commented, following the boy's gaze as he gaped at the now blood-soaked rags clinging to each of her arms. “It's nothing.” She assured him, stepping back, suddenly feeling self-conscious and way too vulnerable for her own liking.

Clearing his throat, Stiles did his best to look at anything other than Adrianna, which happened to be Jackson, as his sights landed over the tied-up teen and widened in surprise. “He okay?” Stiles asked uncertainly as the half-human, half-Kanima stirred.

“Well,” Isaac spoke for the first time since he'd questioned Adrianna if she'd been alright, pushing off of the wall he'd been leaning on and approaching Jackson. “Let's find out.” He finished, gripping Jackson's shoulder tightly as he pushed the boy back into his seat.

Adrianna's heart seemed to stop cold as Jackson's clawed, partly-scaled hand wrapped around Isaac's arm, his nails digging into the flesh of his arm as the not-quite Kanima twisted the werewolf's arm at an awkward angle.

“God,” Isaac gasped, hunching over and following the movement of his arm in an attempt to stop it from breaking. It wouldn't work for long.

Blood began to dribble down Isaac's wrist, splattering onto the concrete beneath in as fast a rhythm as Adrianna's mind was racing. She felt frozen solid, her feet planted to the ground uselessly as she struggled to break free from her surprise and horror to help Isaac.

As bone began to splinter audibly and Isaac's grunting turned into a muted scream, Adrianna did the first thing she was able to. “ _Lupus et Dimissus!_ ” She shouted, hardly even considering that the words she'd meant to speak in English, had come out in Latin.

Instantly, Jackson's grip over Isaac's arm slackened and the werewolf was released, left to stumble away from the not-so drugged Kanima and towards the group of startled onlookers.

“Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay?” Stiles loudly pronounced, obviously just as shaken by what had happened as the rest of them where. It reminded Adrianna that he was human—not some indestructible creature she had to worry about getting stabbed in the back by. 

That was, until he turned on her, his eyes narrowed as he rested his hands on his hips. “And you,” He pointed his chin at her in accusation. “What the hell did you say to him, huh?” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arms out in his vexation. “What language was that, even?” He pressed.

“Look, I didn't even think it would work, alright.” Adrianna hotly replied, unconsiously squaring her shoulders and drifting her hands closer to her belt, preparing for a fight. “I just knew that I didn't want Jackson to hurt Is—anyone,” She corrected, her cheeks burning with embarassement as she was certain Isaac had caught onto her mistake.

“It just came out, okay?” She shrugged helplessly, running her inky, blood-stained fingers through her once clean hair. “I told him to release the wolf. How was I supposed to know he'd actually listen?” Her voice turned shrill and Stiles pressed his lips together, avoiding her heated gaze.

Frowning, she felt something sticky and warm clinging to her upper lip. A dagger of terror stabbed through her chest, stealing away her air as her fingers reached up to wipe away the tar-coloured blood dripping from her nose. “Dammit.” She cursed, wiping away the substance on the back of her jeans only for more to replace it.

Hesitantly, as though afraid she might punch him at any moment, Stiles handed her a rag that'd been hanging over a rusty nail. Her eyes watered with appreciation as she accepted the rag, not caring that it was dirty as hell, and wiped at her nose as delicately as she dared.

She might have been dying, right then and there, and Adrianna wouldn't have been able to do a single thing about it. _The daughter of death_ , she thought savagely, _and I can't even tell when someone's been poisoning me._

“I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out.” Isaac grimaced, holding his injured arm close to his chest as it healed. Adrianna was grateful for the change in topic as she slowly built back the wall seperating her emotions from the world.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles disputed unhappily. “Apparently this is all we're going to get. So let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight.” He added morosely, running a hand over his closely-cropped hair.

“I'm here.” Jackson gargled, his voice not sounding anything like it normally did. “I'm right here with you.” His gravelly, hollow tone told them.

“Jackson,” Stiles cautiously questioned, leaning down so he could be at eye-level with the teen. “Is that you?”

“It's not him.” Adrianna found herself answering, holding herself together as shivers racked her frame.

“Us.” Jackson confirmed her assumption, lolling his head to the side and opening his eyes to reveal a bright yellow iris encircling a black slit. “We're all here.” He cryptically revealed.

Erica slowly backed away from Jackson and the others, stopping only when her back hit the wall. Isaac remained close to Stiles and her, whether out of bravery, loyalty, or stupidity, Adrianna didn't know, but she valued the effort none the less.

“Are you the one killing people?” Stiles continued to interrogate Jackson, who was apparently under the full control of his master now that they'd drugged the human part of him.

“We are the ones killing murderers.” The master amended, snarling as Jackson's clumsy lips formed around the last word. He shuddered in his seat and Adrianna found herself wondering if the ropes and cables would hold him long enough to learn what they needed to.

Shaking his head and drawing closer, Stiles sat on his haunches as he pressed his fingers to his chin in thought. “So all the people you've killed so far—” He began to lay out.

“Deserved it.” Jackson bit out before Stiles could finish.

“No,” Adrianna breathed disappointedly, her hands trembling so severely that she had to tuck them close to her sides. “They didn't.” Stiles didn't hear her, continuing to question the Kanima, but Isaac and Erica did. The latter narrowing her eyes on the back of Adrianna's skull as though to burn her secrets straight out of Adrianna's brain.

“See, we've got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers.” Stiles casually brought up, trying to understand how kids barely older than them, could have been what the Kanima's master claimed they were if they had no criminal record or motive, as far as he was concerned. Adrianna admired his diligence to the law, but that didn't mean she agreed with it.

“Anything can break if enough pressure's applied.” She said, drawing everyone's stares onto her. “Think about it,” Adrianna told them, her brow rising of it's own accord. “Sooner or later, there's gonna be enough trust between the Kanima and his master that an incident like the pregnant woman won't ever happen again. He'll kill no matter who the victim is; innocent or not. It's just a matter of time.”

“Okay, so right now,” Stiles rephrased. “The people he's killing are all murderers, then?”

“All.” Jackson interceded before Adrianna could give her two cents. “Each. Every one.”

“You're really going to believe him?” She incredulously argued, spreading her arms wide, forgetting for a moment just how much blood she was losing now that the adrenaline was leeching out of her system. “The psycho going around orphaning babies and enslaving a possibly reasonable Kanima to his every beck and call. That guy?” Adrianna wondered, sticky, warm blood coating her wrists and dripping from her fingers.

“Do you have a better idea?” Erica parried grouchily.

“We don't have much choice,” Stiles reminded them seriously. “Who did they murder?” He faced the Kanima and questioned, ignoring Adrianna's glare.

“Me.” Jackson replied bitterly in the same unsettling voice.

“Wait, what?” Stiles reeled back, blindsided by the information. “What do you mean?”

“They murdered me.” The master spoke through the Kanima, his vengeance crawling like a spider up Adrianna's spine and raising the hair on the back of her neck. “They murdered me.”

Glancing between each other, Stiles, Isaac, and even Erica grudgingly ended up staring at Adrianna, who bristled under their judgment. “What?” She snapped defensively. “Why are all of you looking at me?”

“Because,” Erica irritably admitted. “You're the only one of us that ever has a clue about what's going on.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you,” She bowed mockingly. “But I'm not some medium that'll solve all your problems with a wave of my overgrown fingernails. All that I know about the Kanima comes from the Physiologus, which you guys stole.”

“Okay, alright, settle down.” Stiles interrupted jibberishly, his eyes remaining trained on the spot where Jackson was sitting. “More ketamine. The man needs ketamine.” He informed them fearfully.

Her argument with Erica forgotten, Adrianna followed Stiles' line of sight all the way over to a very conscious, very mad Kanima. “Come on.” The spastic boy insisted, waving his palm out for the drug from any one of them.

“We don't have any more.” Isaac spoke up, never looking away from the slitted gaze of the Kanima as it trained it's sight on him.

“You used the whole bottle?” Stiles whined disbelievingly just as the Kanima roared, pulling it's arms out away from it's sides and snapping it's restraints with hardly any effort. “Um—okay, out, everybody out.” He settled on saying, running straight for the door as the Kanima rose to it's feet, wicked sharp claws glittering ominously in the dim light as they dripped paralytic venom.

“I can take him.” Adrianna refused to leave, withdrawing both her knives from her belt and biting her trembling lips until she tasted blood to keep them from giving away her weakness. “Go,” She shouted to the others, standing directly in the Kanima's path. “I'll hold him off; stop him from killing someone else.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, grabbing hold of Erica's arm and dragging her behind him. “Fine by me.” He agreed, experiencing no qualms about saving his own skin.

That left Isaac standing in the doorway, watching her just as distrustfully as the Kanima was. “Go on,” She pleaded with him, no longer able to hide the unsteadiness of her hands. “I can do this. I'm strong enough.”

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, the voices of his friends echoing in the background as they yelled at him to follow them and barricade the door. The longer Isaac refused to leave, the weaker Adrianna's resolve became and the thinner the Kanima's patience strung out.

“No,” He finally said, glancing over at the black blood dripping ever more steadily from the widening wounds in her arms. “You're not.”

Ordinarily, Adrianna would have been outraged by his lack of faith in her, but right then—with her mind muddled and fuzzy with exhaustion and her body surrendering to the poison running through her veins, killing her slowly but surely—Adrianna knew he was right.

She took one last look at the Kanima as it snarled at her with a mouthful of sharp, pointy teeth she already knew hurt like hell when they chomped down on you, and then used all the strength she'd saved to fight the creature, to flee from it. Adrianna crashed through the doorway, straight into Isaac's arms, and it was hardly a second after that that Stiles and Erica slammed the door shut, sliding a heavy looking metal shelf in front of the door to seal the Kanima within.

The creature slammed into the door but the combined weight of two werewolves, a weakened huntress, and a pale, spastic human was enough—on top of the barricade—to hold the door steady. As Adrianna breathed a sigh of relief, her muscles uncoiling and her lungs inhaling the scent of the beta wolf holding her closely to his chest, she wondered why she hadn't realized which side to chose sooner.

Even as the Kanima eventually broke free from it's temporary prison, pushing through the tin wall instead of the fortified door, Adrianna found that her mind stayed set on one thing.

 _He waited for me,_ She turned over and over again in her head. _He waited for me after everything I've done to him; alone and against his friend's wishes._

“Thank you,” Adrianna breathed into his neck, her sapped strength slowly returning to her the longer she leaned on Isaac for support. “For waiting.” She added when he was silent for a while.

His heart beat beneath her fingers, steady and healthy, and she hardly needed to look up to know that he was smiling. “It was nothing.” He tried to dismiss, but Adrianna wouldn't have it.

 _How many times has someone saved my life?_ She asked herself. The answer she came to was rather disheartening but at the same time, cemented her decision.

“No,” Adrianna disagreed fervently. “It was _something._ ” Although her voice was barely louder than a whisper, between the two of them, it was as though she'd shouted at the top of her lungs.

For the first time in five years, Adrianna allowed herself to trust another person with no stipulations or conditions. She allowed herself to trust Isaac Lahey, hoping beyond all reason that she was right in doing so.

**#-#-#-#-#**

There were two bullets lodged in his right shoulder, another in the flesh of his thigh and a light graze across his chest where he'd just managed to avoid being Chris Argent's pin cushion. To say he was mad was an understatement.

Limping as fast as he could, Derek bit out a few choice curse words he knew would burn the ears of the kids he'd found himself surrounded with, before leaning against a nearby parked car to catch his breath.

For whatever unsettling, important reason that Derek had missed out on, the Argents had backed off their attack on him and Boyd—the latter of which he'd sent home only a little while ago. Scott was nowhere to be seen, so he was either inside, helping to drug and question Jackson, or he'd already been injured—maybe even killed—by the Argents.

Either way, Derek was on his own.

That was, at least, until the back door to the warehouse swung open to reveal Stiles, Erica, and Isaac—who had one arm slung around the shoulders of the only Argent he wasn't allowed to hurt right then, as though Adrianna had gotten on the wrong end of the Kanima's wrath.

Concern was the first thing he felt, which led to anger at being concerned in the first place, and ended there. Frowning, Derek hobbled away from the car, grimacing as he felt the wolf'sbane laced bullets digging deeper into his flesh with each unbalanced step.

“Hey, um,” Stiles started, wringing his hands in front of himself uncomfortably as he noticed Derek's foul mood. “So we kind of lost Jackson inside” He sheepishly admitted as the older man's gaze drifted elsewhere.

Leaning most of her weight onto Isaac as the two of them came to a stop, it didn't surprise Derek at all when his beta hesitated near the line of mountain ash Stiles had been entrusted with pouring. What did surprise him, aside from the sight of Adrianna's tar-like blood oozing from half-bandaged wounds on her arms, was the huntress' reaction to the ash.

She shrunk away from the line, her expression one of startled panic as Isaac moved to reach out and gingerly press his hand against the invisible barrier the mountain ash had created. He was less than an inch away from touching the shield, which Derek knew would then became visible, glowing a thermal blue for as long as Isaac's body was in contact with it, until Adrianna stopped him.

Her inky fingers wound around Isaac's hand, pulling the appendage back to his side but not releasing her hold on it. Something troubling and suffocating layered itself inside Derek's lungs then, something like jealousy, as his beta squeezed the huntress' hand instead of pulling away.

“Careful.” She whispered to him low enough for only someone with enhanced hearing to catch. “Trust me when I tell you, you don't want to do that. Gives you one hell of a headache afterwards.” She shared in reference to the mountain ash barrier.

“Oh, my god. It's working.” Stiles exclaimed, bringing Derek back to the present. “Oh this is—I did something!” He elatedly expressed, smiling ear to ear while Derek shook his head, trying to understand how Adrianna could possibly know what a mountain ash barrier felt like.

There was only one answer, he knew. She wasn't human. But then, she wasn't anything he'd ever heard about, either. Not a kitsune, were-creature, possessed human, rare spirit or forgotten legend.

Her eyes found his the longer he thought about it and maybe it was the nearly full moon overhead, or the black paint lining her eyes, but something inhuman surfaced within her a second before a howl pierced the night.

“Scott?” Derek wondered, tuning into the distinct pitch of the howl as he distantly recognized it. Even though it had been nearly half a year since Scott had last demonstrated that particular talent, Derek didn't think he'd ever forget the boy's first real howl and the screech that had come before it.

“What?” Stiles floundered to catch up with Derek, glancing around himself as though he'd see Scott rounding the corner any moment.

“Break it.” Derek commanded as the howl's echo faded into nothing. He didn't have long before Scott was in real danger.

Shaking his head, Stiles stubbornly contested him. “What? No way.” 

“Fine,” Derek grumbled, turning away from the only human among them and towards the enigma of a girl that was neither human, nor beast. “Adrianna?” He asked her, gesturing to the solid line of ash with his chin.

“I—” She stuttered, tightening her hold over Isaac's hand until her fingers turned white from blood loss. “I can't.” Adrianna admitted; her level, slightly guarded heart-rate told him she wasn't lying.

He was one step closer to uncovering her secret but one step behind helping Scott. “Is it him?” Derek thought Adrianna asked him, her forest irises trained on him. “Is he the one meant to die tonight?”

“Okay, hold up.” Stiles blurted, his tone holding authority Derek never thought would be present in the uncoordinated teen. “What's going on here? Is someone gonna die?”

Time felt like it was slipping between Derek's fingers, out of his reach. He felt his desperation growing as Stiles refused to help him save Scott. Throwing caution out the window, he bluntly answered the boy's question. “Scott's dying!” He shouted in an attempt to make Stiles understand.

Eyes widening in panic and surprise, Stiles seemed to tremble with nervous anticipation. “Okay, what? How do you know that?” He pressed Derek's last vestige of patience.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” He complained. “I just know; break it!” Derek roared.

His movements wired and tense, Stiles hurried to reach down and push apart the line of mountain ash, breaking the barrier and allowing Derek to rush through to the back of the warehouse, following his sense of smell and his hearing to where he knew Scott to be.

Pushing open the rusted door of a nearby shed or storage room, Derek's reflexes were put to the test as he encountered yet another Argent waiting for him behind the door. Victoria swung a large kitchen knife at him and he ducked out of the way nearly a millisecond too late to avoid the gash in his side the blade would have inflicted, had he been any slower.

Across the room, on the floor, Derek spotted Scott along with the distinct scent of wolf'sbane in the air. Victoria had tried to poison Scott, the only thing she hadn't counted on, if her surprised expression was anything to go by, was that the werewolf she'd though to be a lone omega, had a pack of his own.

Snarling out the rage and envy he'd been forced to bottle up until then, Derek easily evaded Victoria's strikes and slashes, pushing her into a corner as he tried to break free and help Scott.

Despite her appearance, Allison's mother was much stronger than she looked, blocking and deflecting his blows with her blade and attacking in a clearly trained, experienced fashion as she lost the high ground but kept the element of surprise.

When she pinned his arm behind the door, raising her knife over his heart to plunge it into the pumping organ and kill him, Derek only saw two choices. He could take his chances and let her stab him—maybe he'd live if he was lucky—or he could fight back with what was available to him.

Derek had always been a creature of survival. He was a Hale after all, and Hales were especially good at preserving their own lives. It usually involved running and hiding, but this time, it meant sinking his teeth into Victoria Argent's shoulder and using her pain as a distraction in order to disarm her.

She didn't scream, although the gurgling in her throat was a clear sign that she wanted to, and when the knife was jerked out of her hand, clattering onto the cement floors, Derek could taste her defeat. Still, she fought him.

Lurching her empty hands against him, pushing, shoving, punching, and scratching, Victoria carved out enough room between them for her to escape off into the night. Derek didn't follow her.

Instead, he started over to Scott's side, kneeling down beside the boy and taking hold of his shoulders to try to wake him. Looking over at the vaporizer puffing purple smoke, Derek didn't need to smell it to know it was wolf'sbane, he felt it in the way his bones were heavier than normal and his eyesight became fuzzy and unclear.

Derek could have sworn that he'd smelled the very same type, perhaps the very same plant, before as he wrapped one of Scott's arms around his shoulders and lugged the nearly comatose boy out of harm's way.

 _Why does it smell so familiar?_ He asked himself, disregarding all the times he'd been shot or poisoned by an Argent with the same stuff. It had been more recent than that, perhaps only a few moments ago when he'd breathed in the scent. And then, it all fell into place.

The reason why Isaac was so obsessed with her, why she was bleeding black, and even why he'd felt himself seeing Kate in her place—and not just the familial resemblance—vivid dreams he'd never admit to anyone but himself.

Adrianna Argent wasn't their ally. She'd been poisoning them all from the start.

The only thing Derek couldn't figure out, was why exposure to wolf'sbane would be killing her as well. He needed to get his hands on the bestiary. Derek needed to find out what Adrianna was, before she finished what she'd started and killed them all.


	9. Party Guessed

There had been a time not long ago, when Lydia had wished for adventure. For something extraordinary to happen to her; anything to break her ordinary, boring, circadian rhythm. But now that that something had actually happened, she understood how foolish she'd been to wish away her innocent, carefree life for a chance to prove herself.

His hands were clawing at her legs, dragging her towards him as the people cheered in the stands. She felt the same terror she'd felt the first time, only now, she knew exactly what was going to happen. His teeth sunk into her flesh, breaking through the layers and drawing blood. She screamed herself awake.

Lydia hadn't been surprised that it was a dream. She'd had it a few times now. Could anyone really blame her? She'd been attacked by a murdering psychopath at the winter formal and there was no sign that Peter Hale had been, or would ever be, apprehended. In her opinion, she had more than enough reason to fret.

Her sheets clung to her body uncomfortably, forcing her long-sleeved pajama to glue itself to her skin and draw out the cold sweat collecting all the way up her spine. As her hands desperately threw off the covers, not even really thinking about the action, the soft pads of Lydia's fingers brushed over dirt, moss, and twigs.

Closing her eyes tight, Lydia felt her mind go numb as her body tensed, rigid. Like the way the human body reacted to being watched, the hairs on the back of Lydia's neck stood on end. She knew that presence, how could she forget, the whiff of crisped skin and leather gave him away before he spoke.

“Lydia.” He sung tauntingly, the dip beside her in the bed telling her he was lying down right next to her. “Lydia, Lydia, Lydia!” Peter ended in a growl, his charred hand grasping onto her shoulder in an attempt to turn her towards him.

Tears leaked out of her sealed lids, mixing with the mascara she hadn't had time to remove before going to bed, and running down her cheeks. “Leave me alone.” She pleaded weakly, her voice trembling.

“Unfortunately,” Peter mocked with false sympathy. “I can't. At least, not yet.” He told her. Even his voice made her afraid; the way she knew he'd be staring at her if she opened her eyes. He was a monster to her, something she'd only ever been able to accept existed in nightmares and twisted realities.

“Are you real?” Lydia had to ask. He certainly felt real. And yet, there was something not quite _right_ about him, like she really was dreaming him up.

“Interestingly— ” He rolled the words over his tongue as though he had all the time in the world. “That question can also be answered, 'not yet'.” Peter leaned forward so that he was sitting right next to Lydia. Despite her best intentions, Lydia opened her eyes.

“I promise everything's going to get back to normal, Lydia.” Peter's burned, ashy face was just as she remembered it being that day when she'd walked all the way to the Hale's burned down home. He placed his singed hand on one of her pale cheeks. “All that you have to do, is every single thing I ask.” He threatened, digging his long nails—or were they claws—into the skin of her flesh and drawing a shriek from Lydia's trembling lips.

She didn't remember getting out of bed but the next thing she knew, Lydia was standing at the top of the stairs, her hand clutched tightly in Peter's. “Timing is key here, Lydia.” He instructed carefully. “It all needs to happen by the next full moon.”

“Do you know what they call the full moon in March?” He idly questioned, continuing on despite her lack of answer. “It's called the worm moon.”

Something wet and squishy underfoot caught Lydia's attention. She looked down only to choke on her own breath. Her bare feet were covered in mud and slime and wriggling, disgusting, engorged worms. Lydia pressed her lips together to hold back yet another scream. She hoped she was asleep, safe in her bed, and that none of this was real. She hoped she'd wake up and soon.

“They call it that because it's the last full moon of winter, and the worms would literally crawl out of the earth as it thawed.” Peter informed her in the same slow, cautiously patronizing tone. “Kind of has the feel of a rebirth, doesn't it?” He asked as Lydia glanced up and away from the worms covering her feet, to face him.

He looked different, somehow. Less burned and more like he was covered in soot. If it hadn't have been for the worms crawling across his face, clinging to his hair and inching across his temples, Lydia would have thought that he was handsome. He obviously had been, at one time, judging by the way he seemed to regard himself as her superior.

Once more, Lydia lost track of time, the soft rubbing of carpet beneath her toes the only thing that told her she was moving. When she finally came back to herself, she was in her living room.

“But,” Lydia frowned, her mind finally having gotten over her initial shock and onto a more analytical path. “The full moon is on Wednesday. That's my birthday.”

“Exactly.” Peter smiled, as though he was proud of her. His words from the Hale house came back to her. Was this why he'd chosen her in the first place? “And Lydia's birthday is always the party of the year, isn't it?” He pressed, not looking for an answer but demanding her full attention all the same.

“Everyone wants to go to this party.” He dramatically intoned, a note of sourness clinging to his words. “So, we're going to make it a very special party.”

Outside, just beyond the glass-inset french doors her mother had insisted on during the renovation that had been the beginning of the end of her parent's marriage, people crowded around in fancy clothes, as though her party was already happening.

Seeing all those people, some that she recognized and others that she didn't, sparked an ember of rebellion in her. “And what if I don't?” Lydia challenged Peter, holding her chin high as he glanced back at her incredulously.

The air seemed to chill around her and the comfortable buzz of a lively party died out to nothing but eerie silence. Lydia followed Peter's gaze outside. What she saw was drastically different than the celebration she'd witnessed before.

Blood coated the doors, sticking to the glass in splattered patterns as bodies piled high on the patio. They were everywhere. Dead people on the balcony, in the pool, next to the fence, and leaning on the door.

This would be the consequence of her disobedience. It was a price too high for Lydia to even consider.

“I think it's best that we just make a plan and stick to it.” Peter commented offhandedly, like he was talking about the weather. “That way, no one gets hurt.”

Although there was ice in her veins, stopping her from running away or defending herself, fire burned in her heart. She didn't have a choice, Lydia saw that now. She was at Peter's mercy. The least he could do was explain himself.

“Why me?” She wondered if her theory was correct. If he'd really chosen her because he thought she was strong enough, smart enough, to do what he wanted.

“Because, Lydia Martin is not only beautiful,” Peter remarked mockingly. “Not only incredibly intelligent. She's immune.”

Frowning at his words, Lydia recalled what Jackson had said to her all that time ago. He's accused her of the same thing—of somehow transferring it to him. “Immune to what?” She couldn't resist asking.

This was it. Lydia could sense it. This was the secret everyone had been keeping from her for weeks. Maybe Peter, despite all the evil plans he had for her, would finally be the one to reveal it to her.

“Oh, that's right. They haven't told you, have they?” He teased, drawing out the answer for as long as possible. “Bet you've felt like the last to know for a long time. Doesn't feel good, does it?”

“That's not true,” Lydia admitted both to herself and Peter. “Someone did try to tell me. I thought she was crazy.” Sighing defeatedly, Lydia's expression compressed to one of guilt and fear.

“She was right, wasn't she?” Peter's eyes didn't move from hers as he held onto her every word. The thought didn't even occur to Lydia, that Peter might not have known about the girl she spoke of. “Adrianna Argent was right all along.”

“Argent?” He ground out through his teeth. “Which Argent is this?”

Lydia's knees shook as Peter's wrath rained down on her, his stare burning holes through her shattered armor and stealing the truth from out of her lips. “Y—you don't know?” She stuttered helplessly. “Adrianna, the girl that came here for her mother's funeral.”

“Who was her mother?” Peter demanded not a second after Lydia had finished speaking. Startled, she struggled to speak through gaping, confused lips. “Who was she?” He snarled, wrapping his charred hands around Lydia's throat and raising her off the ground, suffocating her.

Gasping for breath, Lydia tried to pry off Peter's fingers from around her trachea, to no avail. He was much stronger than her, even if he wasn't completely corporeal yet. “Kate,” She managed to choke out. “Kate Argent.”

As though the name had been a dagger to his heart, Peter stepped back, dropping Lydia and watching as she crumpled to the floor, coughing and gagging on the smoky aftertaste left in her mouth.

“Well then, I suppose you deserve to know everything.” He trampled over the subject like it had never been brought up. If it hadn't been for the set in his shoulders and the clenching of his fists, Lydia wouldn't have known if she'd imagined the whole thing or not. “It's probably best if I just show you.” Peter decided.

Shadows bent and suddenly, Lydia was alone. She stood up hastily, scanning the room around her for any sign that Peter had been there. Not even a hair was out of place. The patio and pool outside were pristine and just as they'd always been—no bodies or blood in sight.

For a split second, she allowed herself to relax. It was over. None of it was real. She'd only been dreaming. But that didn't account for why she was downstairs, instead of being safely tucked in bed, or why her throat still ached from where Peter had strangled her.

Turning around, Lydia peered into the kitchen, something in the marrow of her bones telling her that Peter wasn't done with her. Standing outside the window framing the kitchen sink, was a figure of immense size. It was at least eight feet tall, maybe nine, and the breadth of it's shoulders far out distanced the width of the window.

Glowing red eyes and pointed fangs as white as bone snapped at her as the creature charged towards her, crashing through the window. The scream Lydia let loose was filled with horror and regret. Why hadn't she believed Adrianna when she'd tried to tell her what really lurked in the quiet, undisturbed shadows of her world?

 _Why didn't I listen?_ Lydia chastised herself as she collapsed to the floor, sobbing deep, painful tears as the dimness of the room around her kept her company. There was no trace left of the beast that had shattered her world, aside from the truth that poisoned Lydia's fragile mind.

Adrianna had known all along. Monsters were real and now, they were coming for Lydia, twisting her thoughts and bending her will with murderous schemes that caused her hands to shake and her teeth to chatter.

Lydia was alone now. All alone and left to Peter Hale's nonexistent mercy.

No one could help her now.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her body felt like it was simultaneously combusting and freezing her organs solid from the inside. Pain was like breathing; it was always there, stabbing at her muscles and twisting her bones out of shape. Shivers and shakes wracked through her body, causing her to jerk in her bed as though she was having one of Erica's seizures.

Adrianna had never regretted anything as much as she'd come to regret using the adrenaline Deaton had given her. It was as close to pure, unmitigated agony as Adrianna had ever been, which was saying something as she'd experienced more than her fair share of pain and torture.

Blurry shapes, indistinct voices, and muted colors were all that she could make out in her hazy, feverish consciousness. Enough to know that it was daytime, which meant that she'd been like this all night and morning.

Eventually, when she'd lain awake in bed, uncontrollably twitching and dripping sweat that only served to lower her internal temperature further, Adrianna decided that it was time for the madness to stop. She forced the covers off of her frail form, nearly screaming out from the pain in her head that came when she tried to lift herself off of the pillow.

Taking deep, measured breaths, her legs spread out awkwardly beneath her in a sitting position as her upper body remained prone on the bed, Adrianna's fingers clenched her soaked through bed-sheet as she willed her torso upwards.

A groan slipped past her lips, despite how tightly her teeth bit down on the soft flesh. Nearby, she could make out the distinct tone of Allison's voice, followed by Lydia's chirping reply. They must have been in the room just across the hall; Allison's room.

Locking her jaw, Adrianna didn't allow another sound to leave her as her hand desperately drifted over to her nightstand. Searching through the contents of the upper-most drawer haphazardly, Adrianna's fingers wrapped around the crinkling plastic bag she'd been looking for.

Something warm and wet dripped from out of her eyes. It was too heavy to be the tears she knew she'd shed. Adrianna dreaded to know what it was, even though she was fairly certain that the substance was her own black, poisoned blood.

Heart beating in her ears like a drum the longer her fingers fumbled around the bag, Adrianna's limbs failed her. Like rust on an old machine, her fingers refused to close around her only salvation for long enough to retrieve it.

Gasping raggedly as a bubbling, watery sensation began in her lungs, Adrianna lurched to the side in a last ditch effort to grab hold of the ambrosia. Her fingers held tightly to the plastic surrounding the candy-like cubes, but just as she pulled the bag towards her, they spasmed and she lost her grip.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Adrianna braced herself for the worst. For all the things that she knew about death, she didn't know what it would feel like to die, especially not like this.

Would she drown in her own blood? Would her heart cease to beat? Or perhaps, it might be even more painful than that. Maybe she'd burn up, just like the Hale's had. _It would be such a fitting end,_ Adrianna reminisced. _Ironic, even_.

And then, as her vision failed her and her heart became a frantic staccato, the bag of ambrosia squares landed in her lap. Adrianna didn't have time to think about where they'd come from or who had helped her. She hastily ripped open the bag, without a second thought, grabbing a fistful of the candy-like cubes within and stuffing them inside her mouth, chewing as fast as she could.

Instantly, her pain subsided, along with the tension in her limbs and spine. Adrianna leaned back against her headboard, sighing in relief. The fire that had been scorching her veins and the liquid drowning her lungs had vanished along with the pain in her head.

Her own mortality—her vulnerability even—had never been so obvious to her as it was in that moment. Poisoned, Adrianna was just as weak as the humans she hunted with. Maybe weaker still.

“Feeling any better, Adrianna?” A deep, drawling voice questioned her. “One should always be careful when it comes to administering extraneous substances into our bodies.” Gerard reminded her, as though he already knew what she'd done.

Opening her stinging eyes, hatred burned in her tired heart as she regarded her grandfather, sitting calmly on the bed next to her. He'd watched her struggle without helping until the end. He'd gambled with her life, just to prove a point.

“Come to gloat?” She couldn't stop herself from snapping, pulling away her arm just as Gerard's hand brushed her cold, clammy fingers. Adrianna didn't want him touching her. Who knew what else he had up his sleeve if he'd been willing to poison her for five weeks without her knowledge.

“Why, what a terrible thing to say.” He falsely recoiled from her brashness. “Is it a crime for a concerned grandfather to watch over his favourite granddaughter?”

Rolling her eyes, Adrianna bit her bottom lip as her frustration began to boil. “Cut the crap, Gerard.” She finally settled on demanding, leveling her gaze on Gerard and refusing to look away.

Frowning, her grandfather's shoulders unfurled. “Language, young lady.” He growled in warning.

“The kind and innocent old man act might work on Allison,” She whispered, mindful not to be overheard by the very same girl who was across the hall with Lydia, lest she enrage Gerard further. “But it's never been convincing to me. As a matter of fact, it's kind of offensive you think it'll work, at this point.” Adrianna chewed out.

Gerard stared at her, his head tilting to the side as the simmering rage he'd hid beneath a thousand guises evaporated into thin air. Just as Adrianna became truly afraid that he'd lost his patience with her, about to reach out and snap her neck at any minute, Gerard tipped his head back and laughed.

“Oh my,” He ground out between humorous chuckles. “I'd forgotten just how much like your mother you are.” He slapped a hand over her shoulder, his hold tight. “Don't ever forget what happened to her.” Gerard warned, his mood flipping on a dime as he stared at her with unwavering, malicious eyes. Eyes that had seen death a thousand times over; that had been the cause of it, more often than not.

“I know what happened to her,” Adrianna replied, her voice tight with barely concealed emotions. “She made the hunt personal. It's a mistake I won't make.”

“Good.” He accepted, releasing his vice-like grip. It had been a long time since Gerard's grip had been that strong. Since before he'd started on his prescriptions nearly two years ago. “Now, why don't we return to our original conversation.” Gerard suggested, threading his fingers together in front of him. “Why would you think that I'd come to gloat?”

Cracking her knuckles, Adrianna hesitated before she metaphorical walked straight into another one of Gerard's traps. He wanted her to admit it, without him even having to ask. He wanted to hear the words come straight from her lips. Why, she didn't know. It probably had something to do with power, but there was a good chance it could have been a part of the enormous, complicated plan he had in place that no one but he knew to it's full detail.

Still, she hardly had a choice. He was armed, after all. She could tell by the way his jacket tucked out behind him that there was a gun in his belt and probably a few knives up his sleeves. Gerard had been the one to teach her how to conceal weapons on her person. It was fitting that, even after hitting old age, he'd never given up the habit himself.

“Because of the rave,” Adrianna began grudgingly, choosing to ignore Gerard's satisfied grin for the sake of her frazzled temper. “It all went wrong. Jackson got away.” Huffing, Adrianna ran a hand through her sweat dampened hair as her lips struggled to form her next words.

“Listen, I know that you've figured out what happened last night.” She felt her hands shaking so she slipped them beneath her thighs on the sprawled sheets of her bed. “You've probably already got a punishment in mind for me, now that you know I helped Scott and Derek instead of you.”

The moment she'd finished speaking, Gerard's hand came into contact across her cheek in a harsh slap. The skin stung and the sound of his flesh meeting hers rung throughout the room, but it felt like a pinch compared to what she'd felt only minutes before. Inspecting his fingernails and wiping away the smears of blackened blood that were the tears Adrianna had been afraid to see for herself, Gerard stood up and calmly regarded her.

“Good to see you haven't lost your swinging arm.” Adrianna caustically remarked, rubbing at her cheek despite the numbness that had begun to spread over her body as the ambrosia attempted to fix all of her ailments. “You see, no matter what I do, if I lie or tell the truth, I'm never gonna be good enough.”

“And is that why you betrayed me?” He asked from where he'd migrated to stand in front of her window, his back facing her. “Because you were afraid of failure?”

“No,” Adrianna readily shared. It had been too long since she'd been truthfully, unapologetically, _her,_ and not just the ghost of her mother. “I did it because my heart finally started beating, despite your best efforts.” She accused, standing on unsteady feet so that she was equal in height to her grandfather.

“Jackson's not a good man, I know that,” Her toes tingled on contact with the cold, hardwood floors, unused to holding her full weight. “But he doesn't deserve what you wanna give him. He doesn't deserve to be executed without a shot at redemption. Scott wants to save him and so do I.” Adrianna stated, placing her hands on her hips decidedly.

Backing away from the window in front of him and finally turning back around to face her, Gerard raised his brows in response to her explanation. “While your little show of emotional connection to Jackson's circumstances is quite convincing,” Gerard began apathetically. “I don't believe you.”

Shock was the first thing Adrianna felt, then outrage, followed by a sliver of uncertainty she buried deep within her heart, away from Gerard's reach. “Believe it or not,” Adrianna defended. “But it's the truth.”

“Oh, I never doubted your honesty.” He replied, stead-fast to his point. “What you told me is obviously how you really feel. I just didn't believe that it was the reason you switched sides so suddenly.” Gerard had the indecency to lecture her on her own feelings.

“Yeah, well,” Adrianna angrily huffed, forgetting that he was now her enemy as she delved head-first after the bait he'd laid out for her. “What do you know about emotions and personal motive anyway?”

“I know a fair bit, actually.” He contradicted her. “I learned from Kate. You and her are so similar.” Gerard commented, pulling on a strand of her muddy brown hair as though mentally comparing her to her mother. “You were right. Her mistake was making the hunt personal, but it wasn't what killed her.”

Adrianna's eyes snapped up to meet Gerard's in an instant. They both knew he'd won, right then, as she yearned for nothing else but to know what had really killed her mother. She needed to know and Gerard was the only one with the answers.

“What killed her, then?” She questioned, tears collecting in her eyes as her voice thickened. Adrianna would do anything, say anything, be anything, if it meant getting the chance to understand why Kate had gone off the rails; why she'd hunted down the wolves of Beacon Hills by herself and ended up with her throat clawed to ribbons.

“I'll tell you,” Gerard agreed, a mad twinkle in his gaze. “So long as you promise to do one thing for me.”

 _Just one?_ She wanted to laugh. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd make her do one, and only one, thing for the information he had. And yet, she found herself nodding. “Anything.” Adrianna pathetically replied.

Her grandfather took a moment to bask in his success. His taming of the shrew, of the misunderstood girl that knew only blood and gore, up until a few weeks ago. Then, he told her about Kate Argent and the truth had never tasted so bitter to Adrianna.

“Your mother, Kate, was killed by Peter Hale, who—as I'm sure you're aware—was killed by Derek for his power and strength as an Alpha.” Gerard started slowly, torturing her as the minutes ticked by. “What you weren't made aware of, was why an experienced, capable huntress such as your mother was so easily defeated by an injured Alpha without a pack.”

“It seems I haven't been made aware of a lot of things, lately.” Adrianna interrupted sourly. “Like, say, the fact that Allison told you who the Kanima was.”

Irritated by her tactlessness, Gerard's face pinched with his exasperation as he struggled to withhold his anger. “Yes, but I hardly see how you can blame me for doing so, when you yourself have admitted to treachery. I couldn't trust you.” He explained bluntly. “Now, do you want me to tell you what killed your mother, or not?”

“By all means,” Adrianna glared, silently mocking Gerard with her sweetness. “Continue.”

Gerard swallowed roughly and ignored her slight for the purpose of finishing his explanation as succinctly as he could. “Kate had her throat torn open, the life stolen from out of her body, because she showed her weakness to Peter and he exploited it.” Gerard began to pace the room as he spoke with rumbling determination. “She was the one to show Allison our family's secret. It was a mistake to bring along such an inexperienced huntress when she was hunting an alpha and two betas, but Kate was never one to listen to reason.”

“Allison was there, wasn't she?” Adrianna felt it in the fibers of her muscles, all the way to the flexing of her toes. “She saw everything.”

“Your sixth sense for death has not dulled, Adrianna.” He responded tightly, never having been very fond of her true heritage and all that it brought along with it. “Peter promised to spare young Allison's life, on the condition that Kate apologized for the Hale fire and permitted her own life to be taken.”

The words were like bullets in Adrianna's chest. Each one stung and buried deep inside her, stealing away her oxygen and numbing her brain. She couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even cry. Gerard spoke for her, basking in her sudden weakness.

“Love killed your mother, Adrianna.” He snarled lowly. “Not her loyalty to the Argent cause, or her sometimes extreme tactics. _Love._ ” Gerard emphasized as Adrianna's entire body began to tremble. “It's best if you don't make the same mistakes Kate did, don't you think?”

And then, with those last few words, the spell was broken. Standing perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, Adrianna registered exactly what it was that Gerard had been getting at. “How is it that you think I'll repeat her mistake?” She asked slowly, cautiously, like a predator stalking it's skittish prey. “I've never known love and real friendship is still a mystery to me, as you've required from me all these years. You know just as well as I, that if something were to happen where there was a choice between Allison's life or mine, I'd chose myself in a heartbeat.”

Unfolding his hands and holding them at his sides, Gerard nodded his head. “While that's true, I have reason to believe that your motivation to change sides in this long-lasting war may have something to do with a certain young, handsome, seemingly vulnerable werewolf in Derek's pack.” He told her, his condescending tone making her bristle.

“If you mean Scott,” She began hotly, only to be cut-off by Gerard's tense, extended palm ordering silence.

A smile twitching at his lips, clearly pleased with himself for maintaining a degree of control over Adrianna's actions, Gerard calmly proceeded with his explanation. “I don't mean Scott,” He informed her. “I was referring to Isaac Lahey.”

The way Gerard drawled the name, as though there was nothing more in the world that he hated than those two words which spelled out a boy's identity, raised the hairs on Adrianna's arms and neck. It took her a moment to realize that she was afraid—truly and actually frightened—for Isaac's safety.

“If you touch a hair on his head,” She warned, her vision tinting red as she couldn't stop her psyche from delving into the variations of torture Gerard could put Isaac through. “I will make certain that you regret the day I came into Kate's life even more than you regret the day she died.”

“Ah,” He exclaimed in victory, smug satisfaction wafting off of his every movement. “So you do care for him, then?”

Startled, Adrianna reeled back as though slapped. She'd walked straight into Gerard's trap without even noticing. “He saved my life.” She tried to excuse, even as she realized that there was no amount of digging that could get her out of the hole she'd fallen into. “He's a—we're—Isaac's a friend.” Adrianna finally managed to say under the intense scrutiny of her grandfather. “Nothing more.”

Despite her earlier stuttering, Adrianna forced herself to level her gaze on Gerard's eyes. If she looked away now, she knew there'd be immense repercussions. “He means nothing to me.” Adrianna reassured, her heart solidifying into the molten ore it had once been. “I wanted to be like Kate. He was a diversion, that's all. Just don't kill him.”

Gerard pondered her confession with steely eyes and tightly sealed lips. All the while, Adrianna remained icy and detached. “Very well,” He eventually conceded. If the tone of his voice was anything to go by, he was not at all pleased to be doing so. “As long as your judgment and abilities are not impaired, the matter shouldn't become— _an issue_.” He silently threatened her.

Swallowing thickly, Adrianna nodded. “I understand.” She acquiesced readily, her blood turning to ice. “What was the condition? The one thing you made me promise to do in order to share what happened to Kate.” Adrianna expounded as Gerard's brows rose in confusion.

“Of course,” He said, swiftly moving towards her and placing a stern hand over her shoulder. “Adrianna, what I want you to do is very important to my plan,” Gerard informed her, the back of his palm brushing over the side of her face and creeping to the back of her neck where the digits slid around her throat and abruptly squeezed.

“You cannot fail me.” Gerard warned, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. “Not this time.”

His words brought shivers to her toes and stabbed icy needles in her heart. When he left, just as he'd come, unnoticed and barely there at all, Adrianna's thundering pulse did not cease to race.

She had so many unanswered questions, but the loudest, most pressing one fought it's way to the front of her mind. She couldn't understand how Gerard had so easily unraveled a secret that even Adrianna herself had yet to admit, only a day after she'd begun to see Isaac in such a way.

How had he known that she'd begun to doubt everything he'd ever taught her, because of the wolves of Beacon Hills?

She'd never admitted the softening of her heart, or the sudden closeness she desired between Isaac and herself, to Gerard, or anyone else for that matter.

Which begged the question,

_How the hell am I supposed to do what Gerard wants me to?_

**#-#-#-#-#**

His chair was beginning to feel like it was molding to his body, becoming a part of him the longer he sat in it, skimming through the two thousand two year book he'd nicked from the Sheriff's station. Over an hour, three aderals, and a completely destroyed set of nerves later, and he still hadn't found anything. Not a single thing to somehow lend him a clue as to who the Kanima's master was.

“Hey, watcha doing?” His father asked him, leaning into the frame of Stiles' door so that he could peak further into the mess of an inhabitation Stiles called a room.

“Homework.” Stiles automatically replied, turning over a page he'd already read four times with particular fury.

Without turning to look, Stiles could feel his father nodding and walking away, only this time, instead of indulging his time into the football match on downstairs or the newspaper that hadn't been read in a week, his dad came back. “It's spring break.” Stilinski pointed out, confused. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Oh,” He mumbled non-committedly, rubbing at his tired, blurring eyes. “I'm just satisfying my own curiosity.”

His father walked into the room, his expression determined and concerned as he gently placed a hand over Stiles' shoulder. Leaning down to see what he was reading, the elder Stilinski sighed tiredly, tripling the guilt that was already piled high on Stiles' conscience.

“We brought Harris in this morning for questioning.” His father admitted, his lips pinching together as he caught his mistake. “ _They_ brought him in.”

Stiles forced himself not to dwell on the past. Yes, it had been his fault that his dad had been suspended as the Sheriff, but with the new information his father was providing, he had a real chance of fixing it. “And?” He pressed, hanging onto every word.

“And they're working on a warrant to arrest him for the murders.” Stilinski shared. For a moment, it was just like old times. Stiles working on a case he shouldn't have even known about and his dad helping him, despite the fact that a teenager wasn't supposed to be privy to police information.

Shaking his head, Stiles' hands lay idle over the page he'd been on in the yearbook. “For all of them?” He couldn't help but ponder. It didn't sound right. Harris couldn't have been responsible for all of the murders, it just didn't make sense. There had to be more to it, evidence or a witness that tied Stiles' least favourite teacher to the majority of the crime-scenes.

“Enough of them.” His dad supplied, nodding his head as though he could see the thoughts going through Stiles' brain and agreed with them.

Pushing his chair back, Stiles rubbed at his chin as he brainstormed. “With what proof?” He voiced his earlier hunch in the hopes of proving it right or wrong. If the cops didn't have some kind of proof than they were just wasting time, catching a man as fast as they could just to ease frightened parent's minds, not even caring that he might have been innocent.

“You remember the couple at the trailer?” The ex-Sheriff questioned, placing his hands on his hips. “Tire tracks nearby match Harris' car.”

“W—” Stiles stuttered as he tried to speak at his brain's pace, which was faster than his lips would allow. “That's not enough.” He indignantly cried.

Leaning against his desk, Stiles' father raised his brows as he continued. “The same car was also seen outside the hospital where the pregnant wife was killed.” He forced Stiles' ire to settled down, if only slightly. “It's got a bumper sticker on it, a quote from Einstein.” He said, slapping a hand over the desktop before leaving Stiles' room.

“Wait,” Stiles called as a memory sparked a chain of linked thoughts and theories that had his eyes widening and his fingers twitching sporadically. “What quote?”

“Something about imagination and knowledge.” His father strained to remember, one of his hands lying flat against the door-frame as he looked back at Stiles.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Stiles breathed in deeply. “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” He recited as the sharp memory of a black sedan with the same bumper sticker came back to his mind. It had been part of the reason he'd been able to spread the mountain ash in the first place. “Yeah, I saw the same car parked outside the rave.” He told his dad.

“That means you're a witness.” Stilinski realized. “You're gonna have to give a statement.” He continued, sounding just like he did whenever he was on duty as the Sheriff.

“But, what about the concert promoter, Kara?” Stiles refuted, not quite convinced that tire tracks and a bumper sticker were enough to justify putting Harris away for murdering four people. “She wasn't in Harris' class, right? I mean, what does Mr. Lahey have to do with Harris?”

Shaking out his hand in a gesture Stiles could read as a command to stop from a mile away, the Sheriff sighed heavily—defeatedly, before his voice turned somber. “It doesn't matter.” He said, pushing away a chance to break apart a lousy case for the first time in a very long time. “The tire tracks put Harris at the site of three murders. That's damning evidence.” He challenged.

“No,” Stiles pushed his chair closer to the desk, sifting through the yearbook for the fifth time in a row. “It's not enough.” He disagreed as he began to feel his energy reserves running low.

“I—I thought you hated this guy.” His dad confusedly tried to understand Stiles' motivations, looking over his shoulder as the pages flittered around Stiles' frantic hand.

“I don't hate him, all right? He hates me.” He corrected factually. “And, you know, if he killed them all, then yeah, lock the psycho up. But there's something missing.” Stiles spoke his mind, trying figure out why the pieces weren't adding up. “There's gotta be something missing.”

“Hey, hey.” His father stopped him, taking hold of his arm to prevent him from leafing through the rest of the book and turning him so that they faced each other. “You don't have to solve this for me.” He gently reassured Stiles.

Stiles wasn't sure if his dad meant the case, or what happened with his job. Probably both as it was secretly Stiles goal to solve the two most pressing issues in his life.

“No, I have to do something.” Stiles refuted, shaking his head. His lips formed the words he wanted to say. How he was sorry for being the way he was, for getting his dad fired and for being such a spastic wreck, but then, he noticed that his father wasn't even looking at him anymore. He was looking at the yearbook where it lay open, stuck on a random page Stiles hadn't seen yet.

“What?” He asked, looking at the right page but only finding a few outdated, unimportant photographs of the two thousand basketball team.

“Look at the swim team.” The Sheriff told him, pointing towards the large photograph taking up much of the left page. 

The hole gnawing at Stiles' brain, demanding an answer in the form of a different suspect that wasn't Harris, finally alleviated as he read the fine print beneath the picture, telling them who had been on the swim team.

Like the most obvious thing in the world, the names of the mechanic, the couple, and the girl from the rave appeared in the litany of first and last names. Stiles scanned over the page, his eyes catching on another picture close to the bottom.

“Dad, the coach.” He pointed out. “It's Isaac's dad.”

The loose end had finally been tied in. Someone was killing everyone that had been a part of the two thousand two swim team, for one reason or other. Which meant that Stiles now know who would be next.

Well, at least he had an idea.

It was more than Scott had figured out, by any means.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“What if we break free?” Boyd voiced all of their fears as he hesitantly tested the flimsy set of handcuffs and chains that would soon be the only things holding him to the subway car, away from other people he would want to hurt.

“Then you'll do anything you can to get out of here.” Derek answered as he scooped up the chains from out of Boyd's arms and dumped them on a nearby seat. “Probably try to kill me, then kill each other and kill anything else with a heartbeat.” He coldly pointed out.

Isaac wanted to tell him to stop using the word kill. It was making him nervous. Ever since coming back from the rave, there had been something off about Derek. He was angrier than usual, if that was even possible, and a whole lot more unstable. Anything could set him off. More specifically, anything Isaac did.

“I need you to hold her.” Derek said, looking away as Isaac raised his head to meet his gaze. Between them, Erica stood, her hands clenched tightly together in an attempt to conceal her fear. It didn't work. All of them felt it.

Getting up and walking behind her, Isaac cautiously slipped his hand under Erica's arms, pulling her closer to him as he held her steady. “So,” He started, trying to lessen the palpable tension in the car. “How come she gets to wear the headband?” He asked.

For the first time in the entire day, Derek's stared straight at Isaac. Though the older man tried to hide it, Isaac could feel the anger coming off of him in waves. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been anything new, except that this time, it was aimed directly towards Isaac.

“Because she'll be able to withstand more pain than the two of you.” Derek responded, his green eyes narrowing the longer Isaac held his gaze. “I've got an extra one if you really want it.” He threatened lightly, although the words hit more heavily that Isaac thought they should have.

Swallowing, Isaac shook his head, averting his eyes at last from his enraged Alpha. “I'll pass.” He replied, hoping beyond all reason that Derek's mood was brought on because of the approaching full moon, and not because of what had happened between him and Adrianna at the rave.

“You ready?” Derek spoke, startling Isaac out of his thoughts.

Erica breathed deeply against him, her heart beating fast as she nodded. “Yeah.” She agreed uncertainly, her fists clenching at her sides.

As Derek placed the rusted crown over her head and slowly began to turn the screws, piercing Erica's skull and drawing bright red blood from her forehead, Isaac tried to focus on something else. Erica was like a sister to him. Her screams grated across his ears and nearly pitched his heart overboard.

Her body against his felt different than when Isaac had been close to Adrianna. Isaac's fingers still tingled whenever he thought about the way she'd held them, even when Derek had made a point of staring at them, without letting go until the very end.

She'd been sick that night, Isaac thought, because her skin had been burning hot and then freezing cold. Allison had had to drive her home. He wondered if she was alright; if she was thinking about him.

Erica howled again, drilling holes through his eardrums and forcing a grimace across his face. He looked over at Derek as the Alpha continued to turn the screw, deeper and deeper into the girl's skull.

Isaac worried that Derek would stop too late and hurt her more than he should. When Erica's claws dug into the flesh on his arms and she snarled lowly, her eyes flashing amber for a second, Isaac worried that Derek would stop too soon. 

_What did I agree to when I allowed Derek to turn me?_ Isaac asked himself.

It certainly hadn't been this.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Lydia's party was just as extravagant and crowded as it had promised to be every other year of the girl's existence, only this time, Scott was actually invited. As the full moon gleamed in the overhead clouds, bright and powerful, Scott thought about the night he'd been bitten by Peter.

Despite the fact that he'd gained friends, strength, a pack, and even a pretty awesome girlfriend because of it, Scott couldn't help thinking that it had all been a fraud because now, everything was falling apart.

“Are you gonna apologize to Allison or what?” Stiles commented as he no doubt followed Scott's gaze across the pool towards the girl in question, like any good detective would do.

Sometimes, Scott envied Stiles. He was human, sure—not very good at sports and constantly pining over a girl he couldn't have—but he was smart. That was something Scott could never seem to attain when it came to school or any other of his furry problems.

Frowning as he tore his eyes away from the dark haired girl he'd given his heart away to, Scott tried not to think too much about the way her cousin, who was standing right next to her, stared at him. “Why should I apologize first?” Scott found himself saying as Adrianna won the contest of wills, forcing him to look over at Stiles.

“Because, you're the guy.” Stiles pointed out, as though it was another obvious thing that Scott hadn't been able to figure out. “It's, like, what we do.” The boy explained poorly, his attention also momentarily drifting over to the Argent girls.

“But I didn't do anything wrong.” He complained, placing a hand under his chin moodily. Scott didn't even have to look at Stiles to know that his spastic, genius, sometimes eccentric best friend had his eyebrows raised disbelievingly.

“They you should definitely apologize.” Stiles pressed, his hands on his hips. “See, any time a guy thinks he hasn't done anything wrong, it means he's definitely done something wrong.” He lectured.

Stubborn, Scott shook his head. There was no way he'd be the one to mend things first. It had been mainly Allison's fault that the Kanima had gotten away, after all. “I'm not apologizing.” He declared unflinchingly under Stiles' scrutiny.

A deep sigh came from overhead as Stiles placed a supporting hand over Scott's shoulder. “Is that the full moon talking, buddy?” He questioned, no sign of the mocking, arrogant tone Scott had expected to hear.

Breathing in deeply, Scott stood up. The full moon really was having an effect on his mood tonight, not that he'd admit that to Stiles right away, though. “Probably,” He replied instead. “Why do you care, anyway?” He had to appease what was left of the suspicious envy he held towards Stiles. Scott had to know if it was real, or just the moon.

“Because, Scott,” Stiles answered without hesitation, waving his hands around him like he usually did when he was trying to explain himself using more than just words. “Something's gotta go right here.” He told him, swallowing thickly as he no doubt thought about all the things that weren't going right at the moment.

“I mean, we're getting our asses royally kicked, if you haven't noticed.” He nearly laughed, something shiny and heavily guarded coming to light in Stiles' eyes. “People are dying. I got my dad fired. You're gonna be held back in school.” The litany started, seemingly to never end as the guilt piled higher and higher on Scott's shoulders.

Some of those things, he'd been responsible for allowing to happen. Either because he hadn't been at the right place at the right time, or because he'd been busy with other, supposedly more pressing matters. 

“I'm in love with a nut-job.” Stiles readily admitted as they both unconsciously looked over at Lydia, who was dishing out punch to every thirsty party guest she could find. “Allison's oh so mysterious cousin—who is also a total nut-job in my professional opinion—is trading sides like she's playing musical chairs, and if on top of all that, I've gotta watch you lose Allison to a stalker like Matt,” He passionately spoke as his voice rose with restrained emotions. “I'm gonna stab myself in the face.” He ended rather comically, which was what Scott had always liked about his best friend.

Smiling slightly, Scott's stare drifted off of Lydia, over to the double french doors that led back into the house. Standing there, in the middle of the cobblestone patio, was someone Scott hadn't expected to see tonight, of all nights. “Don't stab yourself in the face.” Scott exclaimed as the smile slid off of his features.

“Why not?” Stiles sounded confused, for once, not being the first one to uncover or notice something important.

“Because Jackson's here.” He pronounced just as Lydia approached the co-captain of the lacrosse team with a glass of punch in hand.

“Glad you could make it.” Scott heard Lydia tell the Kanima in disguise as she handed him the drink and swaggered back over to the fountain of punch where she'd been pouring glasses.

Scott was certainly not glad that Jackson had made it. Now, his only chance to mend things with Allison and possibly relax and have a good time, had slipped through his fingers.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His fingers ached as he clenched them tightly and his head felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds. There was a tightness in his muscles that he'd only ever felt before a shift. Something told him he wouldn't be able to control anything tonight, not even if it meant killing someone, like Derek had told them over and over again.

As the older man began securing Isaac's chains, pulling on the handcuffs for good measure, just in case, Isaac placed a hand over his Alpha's to gain his attention as Derek moved onto the next cuff. Even though they hadn't been on the best of terms lately, for whatever reason Derek didn't want to talk about, Isaac had confidence that he'd speak to him. There were certain things you couldn't avoid, even if you wanted to, and this was one of those things.

“How do you not feel this?” He gritted out through his clenched jaw, perspiration already dotting his forehead and moistening his palms.

Derek seemed so calm, so in control, compared to the wild groans and howls Erica and Boyd were beginning to make. Apparently, he wasn't everything Isaac thought him to be, as he answered honestly, for once. “I feel every second of it.” Derek responded, never meeting the beta's gaze.

“Then how do you control it?” Isaac desperately wondered, a shiver rolling up his spine, barely contained as he dug the elongated claws of his left hand into his palm.

Glancing over at Isaac's bleeding fist, Derek took a moment before he continued to try to shut the clamp over the rusted handcuff as tightly as he could. “Find an anchor.” He finally muttered, a note of hesitant distrust clinging to his words. “Something meaningful to you.” Derek continued, his efforts to finish restraining Isaac becoming rougher and angrier. “Bind yourself to it. Keep the human side in control.” He explained with what might have been bitterness or resentment, never looking up.

“What is it for you?” Isaac couldn't help but question. He understood that Derek wasn't just his alpha, but also his mentor. Since the start, he'd been trying to teach them the wrong things; how to defend themselves against hunters—which Isaac would admit had served him well—instead of how to resist the murderous rages brought on by the full moon.

It was what Isaac had been afraid of the moment after he'd said yes to the bite. Loss of control, of himself, and having no way to regain it. He didn't want innocent blood on his hands; not like this.

“Anger.” Derek clipped, jerking on the chains and drawing a pained grunt from Isaac as the muscles in his arms complained loudly. “But it doesn't have to be that for everybody.” He mumbled lowly, as though not wanting Isaac to hear, despite feeling obligated to share the information.

Licking his chapped lips, Isaac nodded his head as he understood what Derek was getting at. “You mean Scott?” He proposed, wondering what, or who, Scott's anchor was.

“Yeah.” Derek gruffly affirmed, jerking the chains harshly once more to make certain he'd fastened them correctly. “Right, that should do it.” He seemed to tell himself, pleased with the work he'd done.

Now that he was actually, completely secured to the subway car's seat, unable to move more than a few inches, Isaac's fear of confinement began to set in with a racing heart and dizzy mind.

“Um,” He struggled for something to distract himself. Maybe the anchor Derek had been telling him about. “What's Scott's?” He shook his head, his tongue feeling clumsy and overly heavy in his mouth. “His anchor, do you know what it is?” He reiterated with more success and Derek's confusion washed away.

“Allison,” The Alpha breathed cautiously. “Scott's anchor is Allison.”

Derek moved away to finish checking over Boyd and Erica's bonds, all the while, those four words bounced around Isaac's head. An anchor could be a person. For Scott, Isaac assumed it had been his first love but it could probably just as well be someone important to you; someone you trusted.

Isaac clenched his hands tightly as the full moon beat down on him through the smashed window in the subway car and groaned through his locked teeth. A part of him remembered the way he'd felt last night. How Adrianna had whisked away his fears and worries—made him feel more normal than he ever had.

He recalled the way her green eyes looked when they'd been bordered by black kohl. She'd been nearly like a ghost, then. Half there, half not. Isaac felt his control slipping, his humanity vanishing into the maw of the beast he'd consented to replace his heart.

Isaac held on desperately to what was left.

Green eyes and blood red lips.

Her wiry, scarred hands twisting around his own.

The look on her face when he'd stayed behind to save her.

A stirring in his heart that told him he could trust her with his life.

He hoped the memory of Adrianna Argent was enough to hold him together through the full moon. Isaac feared what would happen if it wasn't.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The suitcase was heavy as it slammed against the counter but not nearly as heavy as the guilt and sorrow weighing on Chris Argent's chest. He clicked open the locks on the case with ease, focusing on one thing at a time. Turning around the array of painless, fatal drugs held within, he measured his breaths as his wife's expression remained fixed as it had been since the moment he'd found her stumbling behind the warehouse, a bloody bite mark deeply inset within her shoulder.

“You really thought I would do this using prescription pills?” She asked, her disbelief and mild humour shining through in the way her lips tilted ever so slightly when she looked up at him.

“According to gender statistics, most women—” He began to rant, just like when they'd first met and he'd tried very hard to impress her. And just like he knew she would, with one simple gesture, Victoria halted his unstoppable train of thought as she held up a sharp kitchen knife. “But you're not most women.” Chris finished fondly, pulling back the case and shutting it closed.

“I'll go upstairs and write the letter.” Victoria tautly supplied, leaving the gleaming knife on the table as she left the room, no doubt already preparing her last words to Allison in her head.

Chris' heart rung in his ears as the silence engulfed him. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like, living in a house without his wife. He forced himself to anyway. There'd be no acrid, overcooked food waiting for him at the table when he got home from a hunt. No store-bought cookies that she'd try to convince him she'd made herself. Her favourite TV soap operas wouldn't seem as funny without her mocking comments and his teasing jibes. Allison—

Allison would be devastated.

“Don't hesitate because of Allison.” Gerard spoke up, as though he could read Chris' thoughts. “She'll feel the ground shifting beneath her feet time and again in her life. It is our job to teach her how to keep standing.” He reminded him, remaining clinically detached in the way Chris could never duplicate, nor did he wish to now that he knew the cost.

“The ground isn't shifting,” Chris mournfully replied, tears pricking the back's of his eyelids. “It's crumbling.”

He had to lean against the table before him to stop his legs from giving out. Chris hadn't seen this coming; not in a million years. He'd prepared for it, yes. At the back of his mind, the niggling, insistent voice trained into him since he'd been born an Argent had told him that he could lose her. Even still, he wasn't nearly prepared enough for it, now that it was happening. Chris could see what it could have the power of doing to his daughter. It could change her—make her stronger and colder—or it could utterly destroy her.

“You want easy?” Gerard demanded roughly, serving as the perpetual reminder of the sacrifice needed to be made when hunting predators stronger and faster than any human. “Change your last name.” He bitterly informed his son. No mercy, no pity.

“Otherwise, go up there and help your wife die with dignity.” Gerard handed the knife over to Chris, blade first. “Because if she doesn't fall on her own sword,” He threatened, pushing the kitchen utensil into Chris' hand and drawing blood. “One of us is going to have to run her through.”

The cut didn't inflict enough pain to make Chris feel better, but it did it's job of focusing his mind. Tightening his grip over the knife, not caring that blood was dripping onto the floor below, Chris hardened his resolve.

It was the Argent way, after all.

 _We live by the code,_ Chris recited to himself as he took the stairs up to where Victoria would be, his pace that of a man prepared to lose everything he held most dear. _And we die by the code._

“ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_.” He breathed, barely audible as he stood in front of the door to Allison's room, Victoria's back to him as she finished writing her fake suicide note. “We hunt those who hunt us.”

He wasn't sure he knew what it meant anymore.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Standing shoulder to shoulder with her cousin, Allison crossed her arms in front of herself as she stared at Matt. He'd scared her, with all those pictures he'd taken of her and as much as she hated to admit it, this time, she needed help.

“You get two minutes.” Allison sternly informed the boy she'd once thought was as harmless as a wallflower. Now she knew differently. There was something about him, aside from the awkwardness that now seemed fake, that told her he was more dangerous than he looked.

“Okay.” Matt agreed, beginning to close the doors to one of the rooms in Lydia's massive house, only to stop as Allison narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “Uh, right.” He began, licking his lips uncomfortably as his gaze flickered between her and Adrianna uncertainly.

“So I know I took some pictures of you that I should've told you about,” He explained, twisting his hands nervously where they were clasped in front of him. “But is it really that bad that—that I think you're beautiful and I think you should be the subject of a perfect photograph?” He stuttered out.

Allison felt the side of her lip lifting in a half smile. It had been a long time since anyone other than Scott had called her beautiful, and he hadn't said it in a long while. Beside her Adrianna cleared her throat loudly, her presence becoming more intimidating as she effortlessly widened her stance and cracked her knuckles. This was why Allison had asked for her help.

Despite the fact that Allison hadn't completely forgiven Adrianna for attacking her during the rave, and Adrianna seemed to be keeping her distance as well, there was no one who could intimidate someone as easily as Allison had seen her do to men twice her height and strength. Men like Derek Hale and even her father.

“Matt,” Adrianna voiced sweetly, her stare never wavering in it's lazer like focus. “Allison's told me that some of those pictures weren't taken in a public place. She was at home, unaware that she was under surveillance.” The younger girl stabbed with a face of innocence.

“Telephoto lens.” Matt supplied, shrugging his shoulders defensively as he took his eyes off of Adrianna for a moment “I mean, come on Allison.” He urged her to understand, glancing back every now and then to Adrianna as though he was afraid she'd pounce on him at any moment. “Photographers call them candids.” He explained, stuffing his fidgeting hands inside the pockets of his coat.

“Well,” Allison replied, her voice shaky. She willed it to even out and become stronger. “Police officers call it stalking.” She finished, raising her brows as Matt shuffled his feet.

“Stalking,” He seemed to roll the word over in his mouth, considering it. “So I'm—I'm a stalker now. That's—is that it?” He shrilly struggled to demand, taking a step closer in the heat of it. “You—you think my bedroom is wallpapered with your photos? You think I'm the kind of guy that's gonna say something like, 'well, if I can't have her, no one can'?” Matt ranted, his face turning red with rage.

Adrianna stepped forward so that her shoulder overlapped Allison's. Fear pumped through her system, sharpening her eyesight and wreaking havoc on her racing heart. “That's enough.” Her cousin interrupted but Matt wasn't listening.

“Well, you know what?” He continued, waving his arms in the air like a madman. “Get over yourself because there's another pretty girl walking through the room every five minutes.” Matt growled, snapping something within Allison that felt suspiciously like her patience.

Breathing an incredulous laugh, Allison side-stepped her cousin and dusted off her skirt, trying to rid the angry bubbling she felt in her gut every time she looked at Matt. “Well, then all you have to do is wait another three.” She reminded him, stomping away with her decency and pride still intact. “Good luck.”

“Allison, wait.” Matt called after her, realizing his mistake long after it was too late to fix it. She knew he'd come after her but, moving quickly, Allison also knew that she could easily loose him in the crowd.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” She heard Adrianna comment from where she remained inside the bedroom. An instant later, Matt's hand closed around her arm as he attempted to stop her from getting any farther away. What happened next was pure reflex and training.

Twisting her elbow, Allison weakened Matt's hold on her, extending her other hand in an open-palmed punch to the boy's chest. As he was twisting, trying to alleviate the sudden pain in his twisted arm, the momentum from her punch threw him off balance, causing his clumsy form to crash to the floor, unharmed in every way except for his bruised ego.

For a second, as Matt lay on the carpeted floor staring up at her in confusion, Allison felt good. No, she felt great. Adrenaline pumped through her blood and her trained muscles responded to her every command. She wasn't helpless anymore. Allison hadn't needed Adrianna to save her after all.

“What is the matter with you?” Matt questioned, his lips twisting into a hateful sneer as he finally overcame his initial shock.

That was when the guilt set in

“I'm sorry.” Allison apologized, her hand automatically covering her mouth as she came to terms with what she'd just done. “I'm so—I'm so sorry.” She faltered, ducking her head as she tried to flee.

Once more, a hand on her arm stopped her from getting farther then the first landing on the staircase, except this time, when the same response came to mind and she tried to use the techniques she'd employed earlier, real fear for her safety infusing into her tactical thoughts as she convinced herself that Matt was coming for revenge, her palm was blocked by a forearm, thrown off target as easily as a fly batted away with a newspaper.

Turning in surprise, Allison came face to face with Adrianna. It shouldn't have surprised her, how easily the other girl overpowered her few weeks of training with nearly a decade, but it did all the same.

“What the hell,” Allison breathed, her senses wired high and her pupils dilated exponentially. “What are you doing? I thought you were Matt.” She explained, her shock tinging her voice higher than it normally was.

It didn't escape her, the way that Adrianna's fingers curled around her shirt, as though Allison was about to experience a repeat of the rave. Her cousin's skin was whiter than a sheet of ice and nearly as cold. Dark circles and red rims around her eyes made her look deathly ill.

Allison didn't know how her grip could be so tight, when she looked ready to collapse at any moment.

“You didn't have to apologize.” Adrianna finally said, her hands releasing Allison's sleeves as she stepped back. “Hurting someone who would have hurt you; that's justice served.” She told her, sounding as though the concept had been told to her at least once before.

Frowning, a dark seed began to flower in Allison's heart the longer she stared at Adrianna. She looked just like Kate, with her leather jacket and her brownish blonde hair, her green eyes and perfect skills. It was infuriating.

“What would you know about justice?” Allison spat, resentment poisoning her words. “You didn't even show up until after your mother was dead.” The words kept coming, insults and barbs that Allison wasn't even certain to be true, floating off her lips unchecked.

“I knew Kate, really knew her.” Adrianna's eyes flashed dangerously but Allison didn't care anymore. It had been piling up for too long and now, she couldn't stop the avalanche from crashing down. “Kate loved me and before she was murdered, she taught me all about hunting and defending myself. What was she to you, besides a role model you barely knew?”

Adrianna's hand lifted swiftly, her palm extended wide and her purple hewed nails shining maliciously in the dim, flickering hall light overhead. Allison knew she'd gone way too far; crossed a line that was so well-known, it didn't even have to be marked. She silently encouraged her cousin to let her hand fly forward the last few inches and slap across her face.

Except, at the last moment, Adrianna stopped herself.

Tears welled and dripped across her cheeks as Allison's cousin gasped loudly, like she was drowning in hurt. She'd been so engrossed in alleviating her own damaged feelings and broken heart, that she'd forgotten about Adrianna's.

“You're right.” The huntress admitted, her facial expression contorting with pure misery. “I never knew Kate at all. She loved you, not me.” Adrianna barely managed to restrain herself from wailing, in a broken voice. It set Allison's teeth on edge to hear it.

“It's always been you, Allison.” She shared quietly, backing away one step at a time as Allison stood as still as a statue, unable to do anything that would atone for her grave mistake. She wasn't even sure if she could. “All those years training so hard, working my ass off just to get noticed.” Adrianna muttered, her fists clenching at her sides. “But it was always you that my mother loved.”

Before Allison could so much as gather her nerves to utter one, utterly useless word of condolence, Adrianna was already gone. She took the stairs two at a time, trying to find her cousin, but people were everywhere and Adrianna had always been astoundingly good at disappearing.

A shadow contorted near the kitchen and for a moment, Allison thought it was her. When she saw the shape in more detail, panic spiked her heartrate. “No.” She dared to whisper. “No, not here.”

Cloaked in black, a crossbow in hand, a girl with dark hair, fair skin and murder in her eyes approached Allison. “Scott!” She cried, terrified. “Adrianna!” She tried again when no one came.

But it was too late. The huntress was upon her.

Lowering her hood to reveal herself, Allison gaped as she stared back at herself. “Look at you. Yelling for help. Always yelling for help.” The heavily armed, dangerously motivated copy of herself spoke mockingly. “It's pathetic, Allison.” She chided.

“You're all alone now. No one to come and save you.” She reminded her, lifting the heavy crossbow. “You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this.” Allison's clone informed her, pulling the trigger.

Allison only had time to flinch as the arrow embedded itself into her stomach, blood seeping out and staining her new dress. She regretted treating her cousin the way she had but somehow, as the other girl—the strong girl that looked exactly like she did—aimed again, Allison realized that if she could have gone back, she wouldn't have changed a single word of what she'd said.

The second arrow never hit it's intended mark, Allison's forehead, as her more powerful self disappeared just as she'd come to be, like a mirage fading out of being.

Allison had once strived to be everything that girl had been. Kate had tried to help her, but she'd never finished. Maybe now, with Gerard's assistance, Allison could finally attain her goal.

Maybe she could be everything Adrianna was.

Maybe she could be everything and _more._

**#-#-#-#-#**

She didn't need to turn in order to feel her husband's presence behind her. He'd never been able to sneak up on her, even before she'd stopped going out on hunts with the rest of them in order to raise Allison properly.

“I didn't get the chance to talk to her,” Victoria spoke her mind as her thoughts dwelled on her only child; her daughter. “So I want to do it here, where I can be with her.”

Her hand stroked the purple bed-sheet she'd helped Allison to pick out. The room had finally been painted, a dark lavender, contrary to her daughter's original choice which had been a navy blue. The purple suited Allison better, Victoria thought. It reflected her strength and her responsibility to the family tradition as a woman.

“Hm,” She sighed, pressing her lips together tightly to stop their trembling. “And I think I'm going to need your help.” She told Chris, turning around to face him at last.

He had tears in his eyes. Not something she'd expected, given how emotionally closed off Chris had always been during tragedies. Her own eyes were blurry as well with unshed tears. Both of them knew what was required of the other, now, the only thing left to do was be brave.

Chris sat beside her, his arms wrapped around her chest as they both looked out Allison's window at the slowly rising moon. A white, searing hot pain blossomed in her shoulder from the previously numb wound Derek Hale had inflicted on her and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening on the knife Chris had brought with him as she prepared to stab herself in the heart.

“Wait.” Chris pleaded, his hands holding her firmly in place, keeping the knife a good distance away from her chest.

“I can feel it. It's happening.” Victoria swallowed thickly as she pressed herself closer to her husband in an attempt to regain her nerve. “You know what to do. You know what to tell people.” She went over the drill she'd been forced to learn all those years ago when she'd married into the Argent family.

“Tell them I had a history of depression.” She commanded sternly, not liking the way Chris hesitated to answer, the words catching in his throat as a near sob. “Promise me.” Victoria reinforced, her brow furrowing as her heart began to tear itself in two different directions.

“I will.” Chris gasped through shaky, uneven breaths. “I will, even though I've never see you depressed once in twenty years.” He reassured her.

Nodding her head, Victoria soldiered on despite how much she wanted to cry and relinquish her responsibility to someone else. Now was not the time for weakness. “Allison needs to say it too.” She added unwaveringly.

Her little girl, barely old enough to know right from wrong, and now, she'd have to lead the hunt; take her mother's place. There was no way Gerard would allow that half-breed to do it, Victoria had made certain of that. His promise still rung in her ears.

Allison would be great in every way a huntress could be. Kate's bastard daughter would be stricken from the Argent family tree, once Gerard had used and discarded her. Only one heir would be remembered. Only one daughter.

Chris' body trembled against hers as she felt him nodding. “But I won't let her believe it.” He vowed. He knew her well—too well. That was why this goodbye was turning out to be so hard. They'd fallen in love with each other, against all odds. It was a fate Victoria never wished on any hunter. Attachments made everything complicated, and yet, she didn't regret any of it.

“She'll hear things.” Victoria disputed as she imagined all the gossip Beacon Hills would circulate around her death. “People will say I was weak. They'll say I took the easy way out.” She bit out harshly, real fear taking hold of her.

The future was so uncertain and tumultuous for her family. Victoria wasn't certain she could do this, condemn herself to death and leave her daughter and husband on their own to face what was to come.

 _The alternative,_ she reminded herself, _is far worse._

“And I'll tell her it was the hardest thing you ever did.” Chris stroked her short, red hair, his tears landing on her good shoulder and moistening the sleeve of her torn blouse.

Breathing deeply, Victoria accepted her lack of choice in her fate. It was death by her own hand, or death by a stranger's—perhaps by the demigod's sword. She'd been strong her whole life, it would only be right for her to do the same in her death.

Leaning her head back onto Chris' chest, Victoria stared up at the moon. It was rising steadily, ticking away the seconds left on her clock far faster than she wanted. “And they'll ask,” She continued, covering the last of her worries. “How could I do this to my family?”

“She'll know you did it for us.” Her husband answered, giving her the strength she needed to accept what might happen to Allison when she died. It was a consequence they'd all been aware of when they joined the hunt as kids.

Her fingers wound around the handle of the knife more tightly, so as to disguise their shaking. The bright light from the full moon swept inside Allison's room, illuminating the carpet underfoot and creeping towards the bed.

“I can't do this myself.” Victoria permitted herself a moment of instability, of the childish need for soothing. “Chris. Help me.” She gasped as her heart beat like the hooves of a thousand horses the closer the moonlight stretched to her.

Without a word, Chris sidled in closer to her, his firm, steady hands closing around hers and helping her to position the knife above her third and fourth rib, hovering over her most vital organ.

A burst of what felt like adrenaline, but was really the strength and endurance of a werewolf, signaled the end for Victoria as she clasped the knife with whitened fingers.

“Now.” Victoria Argent told her husband as he joined her in plunging the knife through her sternum, into her heart. She drew in her last breath hoping that her daughter could be saved from the death that had befallen her.

The death of a hunter; of an Argent.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Tremors rushed up and down Adrianna's spine as her clammy hands pressed against the porcelain toilet boil which was blissfully cool compared to her feverish skin. As her stomach emptied once more into the basin, blackened bile staining the water and wafting up into her nose, causing her to wretch and attempt to expel substances from within her hollow stomach, Adrianna wondered if she was finally going to die.

It had taken far longer than she'd expected it to, given the amount of adrenaline she'd taken at the rave—double Deaton's recommended dose—but the overwhelming pain she was experiencing right then seemed to make up for the wait.

Groaning lowly as her organs danced about inside of her, ostensibly unhappy with remaining where they ought to be, Adrianna struggled to remove her mother's coat and press her cheek against the tile floors in search of a respite from the heat she felt coursing through her veins.

Her heeled combat boots squeaked as she moved around, twisting her shoulders in order to shuffle out of the tight, leather garment. It fell to the floor at the same time that Adrianna toppled her glass of punch.

With a resounding crunch, the glass shattered under her shoe, spilling the pinkish liquid within all over the floor, soaking into Adrianna's jeans and adding to the sticky puddle of a girl that she'd become.

Gasping, Adrianna curled over the toilet, heaving as she vomited once more, only this time, she was certain that there was nothing in her stomach. Pure black, inky liquid drained out of her lips and fell to the base of the toilet, refusing to mix with the water in a similar way than oil.

Cold, relieving fingers brushed against her neck, trailing down her arms and taking hold of her hands. Fingers that felt familiar. She saw, clear as day, her fingers intertwined with another's and as she looked to the side, Adrianna came to know whom they belonged to.

“Isaac?” She asked hesitantly, a croak in her voice from the acrid bile she'd expelled only moments before. “Isaac, what are you doing here? It's the full moon.” Adrianna pointed out, concern for him giving her the strength to attempt to move away from the toilet.

Wiping at her mouth, Adrianna lost her balance and sat back, trembling and coughing uncontrollably. Frowning, Isaac steadied her shoulder as he leaned her against the nearby bathroom vanity as she tried to regain her breath.

“It's alright, Adrianna.” He assured her, his eyes shining amber as he came closer to her. “This isn't real.” He told her as his lips skimmed across her cheek, ending just beside her ear.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, leaning into his touch. The racing in her heart had diminished enough for her to think properly. “Am I dreaming?”

Pulling away, Isaac smiled in the way that made Adrianna's stomach knot and her head feel light as he grabbed hold of one of her hands. “No, you're not dreaming.” He answered, placing something ticklish and soft in her palm. “In fact, I'd say you've never been more awake.”

And then he reached forward, one of his hands wrapping around the base of her neck, and kissed her. His lips tasted sweet, like flowers, and she didn't notice his body fading away until the pressure of his hand on her neck diminished and all that was left of his kiss was the memory imprinted into Adrianna's mind.

She smiled despite knowing that she'd hallucinated—a common side effect of wolf'sbane poisoning in werewolves and other supernatural creatures the likes of which apparently included demigods—and leaned her head back against the vanity, humming the tune her father had sung to her when she'd been just a baby.

Her fingers tightened into fists and only then did she realize that the palm Isaac had clutched was not empty. Raising her hand, Adrianna carefully uncurled her digits to reveal dozens of small, purple flowers she immediately recognized as wolf'sbane.

Searching around herself for the source, Adrianna's attention was pulled towards the leather jacket crumpled beneath her. There were claw marks in the sleeves from where the Kanima had shredded the leather and her skin only the night before, but within those gashes, as Adrianna pulled apart the linings of the jacket, were hundreds more of the same silky, delicate flowers.

This had been how Gerard had poisoned her so intensely since she'd come to Beacon Hills. Using a memento he knew she'd never turn down as a Trojan horse for his own fiendish plans. Screaming out in frustration as she bunched up her mother's jacket and threw it at the bathroom door, Adrianna wondered if it was possible for the full moon to have an effect on her, because in that moment, she was angrier than she'd ever been. 

Isaac's voice came back to mind, the way his hands had felt over her skin and how his lips had kissed her cheek. It grounded her back to the present and away from thoughts of revenge for long enough to notice, across from her, the shattered remains of Lydia's punch glass, which lay scattered across the tile floor. Inside the puddle of punch, aside from the multitude of glass shards, sat a handful of small, water-logged petals the same in every way, shape, and form as the ones Adrianna had found in her jacket.

She had more than one problem on her hands now. Gerard wasn't the only one poisoning her with wolf'sbane. Now it appeared that Lydia was too, except this time, Adrianna wasn't the only target. Everyone at the party was drinking the punch, which meant she'd intended to drug nearly the entire teenage population of Beacon Hills.

“Dammit.” Adrianna swore, climbing to her feet unsteadily and retrieving her jacket, slinging it over her arm instead of wearing it. “The one damn time that I actually start to trust someone.” She complained as she left the bathroom along with the small lake of punch for someone else to deal with.

Adrianna didn't notice the pair of curious brown eyes belonging to Allison's stalker which followed her every move. Aside from a few minor differences, she did look extraordinarily like her cousin, after all.

**#-#-#-#-#**

It was too much for him, Derek would admit it. He'd thought that he could handle it with the chains and the metal screws but, as it turned out, three betas without a single semblance of control on the full moon were too much work to contain, even for an Alpha.

As Erica growled lowly and prowled around him threateningly, having already broken free from her chains and headband, Derek knew it was only a matter of time before the other two followed her lead.

Sure enough, Boyd was next, ripping off the rusted cuffs effortlessly and joining Erica's side as the two betas stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Derek, sizing him up. Snarling, he charged them first, tackling Erica to the ground only to be literally stabbed in the back by Boyd's sharp claws.

As he roared in pain, whirling on Boyd and slashing at the dark-skinned boy's arm, Derek turned around at the sound of glass shattering as he realized that he'd completely forgotten about Isaac, who'd also managed to break free and easily leapt through the subway car's window, out of sight.

“Isaac!” He yelled, standing up and moving towards the shattered hole of a window in order to see if he could find the boy. As his back was turned, Boyd and Erica leapt on him and Derek had to set aside his fears for Isaac in order to fight off his betas.

Slashing and punching, biting and snarling, Derek did his best to keep the two young, strong werewolves inside the subway car. As he gained the upper hand on Erica, cornering her against the outer wall of the car and fumbling with the empty set of cuffs in order to try to restrain her once more, instead of fighting, Boyd ran for the exit.

Derek wasn't fast enough to stop him, one hand still holding Erica to the bench, but, leaping through the window inside and causing the subway car to shudder from the force of his landing, Isaac was. Wrapping his clawed hand around Boyd's throat, Isaac slammed the other beta into a nearby seat, snarling at his pack-mate as he held him down.

Smirking, Derek turned once more to deal with a struggling Erica, clocking her across the jaw with his fist and disabling her for long enough to chain both of her hands back to the bench.

Isaac looked over at him, his eyes yellow and his face still that of a fully transformed werewolf, but his actions that of a human. Derek knew then and there, that Isaac Lahey had found an anchor. All he could hope for was that it wasn't Adrianna Argent.

“Think you'll be okay now.” He told Isaac once the other boy had finished chaining Boyd to a chair and sat in one of his own, his hands calmly outstretched as Derek placed the useless cuffs around the boy's wrists. “Looks like you found an anchor.” He pressed, setting aside the dispute he'd had with him in order to try to help him.

If his anchor was the Argent girl, then Derek would do everything in his power to avoid history repeating itself, even if that meant swallowing his own pride and admitting his mistakes.

“The huntress,” Isaac eventually told him, his voice hoarse. “Adrianna Argent.”

Anger was the first thing Derek felt, followed by dread. “I thought I warned you to stay away from her.” He growled ferally as he clamped the last bold shut, standing back and regarding Isaac in a new, terrifying light. “I don’t like the hold she had over you.”

Shaking his head, the younger boy smiled at Derek’s fury in a way that was completely unapologetic. “I don’t even understand it myself,” Isaac shared. “I just know that the memory of her is the only thing that can keep me human. Like Scott with Allison.”

Derek nodded his head and swallowed back the acidic rebuke that lay on the tip of his tongue. He placed a hand on the teenager's shoulder as he permitted, for the first time in a while, his concern and protective instinct for his betas to be seen.

“You did good, Isaac.” He praised, careful not to show too much softness. “But we're still gonna need to talk about what happened at the rave. She’s not like her cousin; this isn’t the same as Scott and Allison’s adorable teenage romance.” He reminded Isaac with more than a little bit of bitterness in his voice. Isaac avoided his gaze.

“I don't care what you think you know about her,” Isaac bravely replied, proving that his feelings for Adrianna were strong enough for him to feel responsible for protecting her from Derek. “But she's not the woman you knew. Adrianna's not her mother.”

“And how would you know?” Derek narrowed his eyes in warning as old, painful memories began to resurface. “You never met Kate.”

“Well,” Isaac licked his lips, thinking over his words a moment before continuing. “It started happening right after Adrianna nearly killed me, back before we knew who the Kanima was.” He shared hesitantly, his eyes moving to and from Derek's.

“What started happening?” Derek pressed, his interest caught. Isaac hadn't talked about that night at all. He'd assumed it had been because the boy hadn't wanted to admit that Derek had been right about how dangerous Adrianna was. Now he thought differently.

“I started remembering things.” He admitted vaguely. “The thing was, these memories weren't mine.”

“Who's were they?” Derek asked, mindful of the rumbling which signaled Erica's return to consciousness. “Isaac, who's memories were they?” He repeated as Boyd grew restless, pulling at his restraints and nearly snapping them in half.

“I—I don't know.” Isaac shook his head. “I think they were Adrianna's.”

Stunned, Derek frowned as his thoughts muddled into the same giant, confused question he had about Adrianna's origins, which, as far as Derek was concerned, could only be answered using one book.

The Argent's bestiary would be his only chance of unravelling the mystery around the argent huntress who had snared his beta so effortlessly within her manipulative grasp.

Derek was fairly certain Scott had a copy of it.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He was standing off to the side, minding his own business, happily ignoring the multitude of under-aged drinkers all around him in favour of watching Scott and Adrianna talking together in hushed voices as Stiles tried to make his way back to them through the crowd. That was, of course, until he realized that the punch had been spiked, which lead to general mayhem all around.

Of course, people just had to start jumping into the pool.

Each splash and euphoric yell sent shivers up his spine and ever misplaced droplet of water caused his heart to race. Matt really, really hated pools. It wasn't just the water or the fools that liked to swim inside it; it was the fact that he couldn't swim.

So, when the completely drunk idiots around him decided to hoist him up and take him closer to the pool, swinging him back and forth to gain momentum, he understandably lost his cool.

“I can't swim!” Matt yelled loudly, trying his best to pull his arms out of their meaty fists so that he could teach them a lesson. “No, no, no, no, stop,” He mumbled, his voice getting shriller and tighter the closer he got to the water. “Guys, I can't swim!” He shouted once more, in vain.

“I can't swim!” Matt nearly screamed, drawing the attention of some of the more sober party guests the longer he made a fuss. “I can't—I can't,” He struggled to say as he got higher and higher into the air until eventually, he was no longer swinging, but falling—straight into the pool as the fates would have it.

As soon as his head sunk beneath the surface and his airways blocked themselves off to preserve oxygen, Matt began to try to pull himself back up towards the fresh air. His arms moved awkwardly as he attempted to paddle, his feet kicking out in panicked directions the longer he stayed under water.

Bubbles floated out of his lips and nose, up to the surface as his diaphragm contracted and spasmed in terror. With all his strength, he called out for help from the only source that had ever listened.

Several hands breached the surface of the water near the edge, obviously they'd finally heeded his warnings and realized that he really couldn't swim, but none of them were close enough.

His body sunk deeper and deeper the longer he struggled to move himself towards the outstretched appendages. As his toes nearly touched the bottom and pure fear turned his veins to ice and his heart into a tap dancer, Matt reached out as far as he could to the arm that plunged the deepest.

It belonged to a girl, he could tell because of the purple paint colouring her nails and what looked like a rope and bead bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She pulled him up an instant after his hand wrapped around hers, not bothering to use her other arm to assist in the lift, and surprising Matt with her strength.

As he lay at the side of the pool, spluttering up water and gasping for air, Matt got his first real look at his savior. Light brown hair, emerald coloured eyes, scarily pale skin and lips as red as he knew his own blood to be, Adrianna Argent was far more beautiful to him than her cousin, Allison, as his hearing returned to him and her voice floated into his ears.

“Matt, are you alright?” She asked calmly, like she saved a life every weekend. “Can you hear me? Nod your head if you can hear me.” She persisted, momentarily taking a moment to look around herself at the amassed crowd. “Step back, move away.” She demanded roughly, glaring at whoever dared to contest her order. “Give him some room.”

“I'm—I'm fine.” He stuttered, sitting up without her help and searching through the crowd for a familiar face. Sure enough, Jackson was near. A small, barely noticeable shake of his head was all he needed to communicate his new intentions.

“Good, that's great.” Adrianna assured him, her index and middle fingers sliding over his neck to feel his pulse. “Don't worry, I'm not a big fan of water either.” She shared, following his nervous gaze out into the mass of young kids staring at him judgmentally.

“I know.” He couldn't stop himself from replying, too caught up in the fact that Adrianna Argent was actually trying to make him feel better, to realize that he'd just slipped up. “Because of your Grandfather, right?” Matt asked.

Her expression was what reminded him of the truth. “How hell do you know that?” She callously spat, her armor sliding into place just after Matt saw understanding widening her eyes. “It goes both ways.” Adrianna muttered sadly as the puzzle unraveled before her.

“The cops are here, party's over!” Someone yelled loudly as people began to run in random directions, trampling over each other and serving as the perfect distraction for Matt's exit.

Adrianna was separated from him in the mayhem and Matt was glad that he had help getting out of Lydia's house before she told Scott or Stiles what she'd learned. Matt really hated them, but he had an exceptional grudge against Scott.

Standing over by the side of the road, the Kanima coiled around his feet, ready to strike should he give the command, Matt glared at Scott as he rushed out of the house, stopping to stare back on the drive way.

He had ruined Matt's chances with Allison and probably would have let him drown in the pool. Hell, all of them would have, if Adrianna hadn't been there. All of them except for Jackson, his own personal assassin without a conscience.

Shaking with fury, Matt didn't break eye contact with the young, arrogant werewolf until after the remainder of the kids came pouring out of Lydia's mansion, giving him the cover he needed to disappear once more.

Matt wanted Scott to know that he was the one coming for him. That he was the one controlling the Kanima, as it slowly destroyed his world and killed everyone he cared about.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The night had gone according to plan, not a single hitch or contingency to be dealt with or used. Peter had made certain of that. He could feel his blood coming closer to him as Lydia dragged Derek inside their old home, towards the place where Peter had been forced to spend his days beneath the floorboards, waiting for this very moment.

Voices were indistinct, chaotic masses. He felt energy, saw colours and shapes. Peter was not a living, breathing man, at least, not yet. The moon was strong overhead, but not strong enough. He hoped Lydia had been able to figure out a way to amplify it's power, or else, he was just a fluffy corpse waiting to rot and decay.

He wondered if the worms would get him first, or perhaps the termites. There were plenty of dangers that could be posed to a nearly mummified, ashen body without any life in it.

Suddenly, he _felt_ something. Skin, warm and living with blood pumping beneath the surface, pushed into his rigid hands. He'd stored enough energy within himself just to be able to do this one thing on his own. To dig his claws into his traitorous nephew's arm and draw Hale blood from the naive fool that had dared to kill him in the first place.

Moonlight where there had been none, shone down on him, lending it's strength and stamina to his debilitated form long enough to draw out power from Derek Hale, a small portion of the strength it took to be an Alpha, and awaken from his temporary death.

His heart started first, shuddering uncertainly and then pumping rigorously in a rhythmic staccato he'd so missed. Then his bones and muscles revitalized and became fleshy and alive and it had never felt so good to be him, than it did in that moment.

Crashing through the floor, using his newly acquired stamina a little overzealously, Peter stretched out his cramped back and neck as he stared at his shocked nephew.

“I heard there was a party.” He started warmly, smiling widely as Lydia knelt before him in awe and Derek seemed torn between anger and fear. “Don't worry,” He reassured his nephew. “I invited myself.”

Things were going to change in Beacon Hills now that Peter Hale was back. He was going to put an end to the reign of Argent hunters in his town and wreak as much havoc as he could.

Oh, he'd almost forgotten, and he'd have to find out who, and _what_ , this Adrianna Argent was.


	10. Fury

She hadn't felt it, hadn't seen it coming, hadn't even been sick to her stomach or reduced to tears as the aftermath began to play out.

It had just happened, and for whatever reason Adrianna could not fathom, death had not whispered in her ear as it stole away Allison's mother's life.

Silence surrounded her, as though she'd been submerged in the pools of her family's sorrow. Adrianna did not feel sad. Burning rage filled her up, brimming in her newly solidified heart and spreading throughout her blood; pounding in her ears and setting her teeth on edge.

Her fists clenched tightly the longer she stood where she was, staring down at the cold, lifeless corps of Victoria Argent. Her red hair was duller than Adrianna remembered, but perhaps that was just because the colour paled in comparison to the blood staining her clothes where a knife had plunged through her chest.

Victoria had died like an Argent. Adrianna was certain that Gerard saw to that. The bite mark on her shoulder, still fresh and newly bandaged, proved the reason why such a measure was necessary. The only reason death would be required from a werewolf bite, was if it was inflicted by an alpha, Adrianna knew.

Which meant that Derek Hale had been the one to bite her.

Which meant that he'd been the one to inadvertently kill her.

Trembling slightly, her balance failing her as she reached out and grabbed hold of the gurney to steady herself, Adrianna breathed in the stench of death all around her. Allison had not stayed for more than a second, rushing out of the room a tearful, broken mess. Chris had soon followed with barely a backward glance.

It was only then, that she cared to remember that Gerard had stayed, as his stare burned holes into the back of her head and demanded the answers he so desired. The answers he would kill for, if need be.

“I assume that you knew this would happen,” He began, calculated footsteps resonating through the empty, eerily quiet morgue. “No doubt death has already told you the fates of all your kin, even before they die.”

Swallowing roughly, Adrianna closed her eyes as she felt hot, angry tears threatening to fall. “You know that's not how it works.” She corrected lowly, restraining the desire to scream and yell at the man that was killing her. “I only know when death is near, not before.”

“Ah yes,” Gerard mocked as he approached her, joining her in watching the woman that had once been just as much the hunter as any of them. “I'd forgotten that even you, the daughter of a mythological god, have limitations.”

“Really?” Adrianna retorted, her temper flaring as she spun on her toes to face Gerard. “I don't believe that for a second. If you didn't know that I had weaknesses, then how was it so easy for you to destroy me?” She pressed, her hands drifting to her knives as Gerard's eyes narrowed.

“Whatever do you mean, Adrianna?” He asked with false innocence, refusing to step back and relinquish some form of control in the situation, despite how close she'd gotten. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were accusing me of something.”

Laughing bitterly, her throat scratching from the effort, Adrianna's fingernails curled into the meat of her palms, digging in as she held back the desire to break something on the old man's face. “I am accusing you.” She fearlessly pronounced, tired of the lies and manipulations she'd had to endure since the death of her own mother. “I figured it out.” Adrianna continued, her voice turning predatory as Gerard's brow rose, unimpressed with her display.

“Did you really think I wouldn't notice?” She remarked caustically, a snarl biting at the tip of her tongue. “I may be easily bent to your will but I am not stupid. I know what you've done to me, what you plan to do.”

“Now, now Adrianna.” Gerard attempted to console, as though she were nothing more than an attack dog nipping at it's owners hands in search of a missing meal. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. You made a bargain with me, do you not recall, and your task has not yet been completed. You cannot start a revolution against me until you've done what you promised you would.” He patronized, a satisfied smile curling his lips. It set her blood on fire.

Roughly shoving him against the nearest wall—which happened to be the stainless steel wall lined with locked doors bolted shut, withholding dead bodies from sight—Adrianna's palm lay flat against Gerard's chest, her fingers fluttering over his pounding pulse.

“I know what I promised you.” She bit out, her free hand migrating inside his coat, ever so gently delving within his pocket as his attention remained on her violent transgression. “But I also know that allowing you to poison me with wolf'sbane, perhaps for the remainder of my terribly short life, was not part of the deal.” Adrianna revealed, her expression steely as her fingers closed around that which she was after.

“Finally,” Gerard sighed, his anger boiling beneath the surface in a quiet rage that always spelled trouble. “You've figured it out. I feared that you'd die long before realizing the genius of my extermination.”

Reeling back, her brows furrowed and her lips puckered in distress, Adrianna forced her eyes to well with tears—a task that was easier to accomplish than she'd have liked—as she backed away from the man that had raised her and now intended to kill her as soon as her uses were through.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a monster?” Adrianna spoke tightly as tears ripped across her cheeks and bile nipped at the base of her throat. Her hands trembled so she hid them in the pockets of her mother's jacket.

“Do you know what your greatest error was, Adrianna?” Gerard wondered instead, sweeping away her insult with barely a thought. “Your inability to remain emotionally unattached to the people you want to impress.” He admitted, threading his fingers together and regarding her like a failed experiment. “It's what made it so easy to poison you in the first place. You wanted to believe that my intentions were pure, with such intensity, that you ignored all of the warnings along the way.”

“Not all of them.” Adrianna contested, her head bowed as she refused to meet her grandfather's demented gaze. “I saw what you were doing with Allison. I tried to tell her, to save her from you.”

“But she didn't trust you,” Gerard reminded her haughtily. “Did she?”

Shaking her head slightly, Adrianna emptied her fist inside her pocket before extracting both of her hands. “Killing me and replacing me with Allison,” She leveled her verdant gaze onto Gerard's cloudy blue eyes, staring him down as the end played before her eyes. “It won't save you.”

Pulling on the lapels of his overcoat to straighten out the fabric, Gerard stood tall to her challenge. “I wouldn't be so sure.” He disagreed, something about his movements appearing younger and stronger than she remembered him being as he walked out of the morgue, leaving her alone with death.

“Well,” Adrianna muttered once the door had sealed shut behind him, retrieving the stainless steel, ornate pill box from within her coat and squeezing it in her palm. “We'll just have to see about that.”

He'd used her for sixteen years as nothing more than a mindless weapon built to destroy whatever he pointed her at. Now, it was time for a little payback. She and Scott had a plan. A foolproof plan, dare she say, that would use Gerard's supposed salvation against him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

It took nearly an hour to convince his father that Matt was at least a plausible suspect for the murders Harris had been charged with. The fact that his dad, once the Sheriff of Beacon Hills for over twenty years, trusted Scott more than he trusted Stiles—his own son—and that that was the real reason they were sifting through piles of evidence at the station, was something Stiles would rather not dwell on.

Jealously was a tricky thing. It sprung up on you when you least expected it. As it happened, Stiles had already gotten a lot of practice dealing with envy when it came to his best friend, Scott McCall. Whether it was strength, speed, appearance, popularity, lacrosse, or newest of all, trust, Stiles could put it behind him. He could understand.

That didn't mean he wasn't still upset, though, that his own father had kinda ditched him for Scott. However, the thrill of a good puzzle unraveling was more than enough to take his mind off of that fact for another while longer.

“I don't know, guys. I mean, look at this.” The Sheriff pointed out despondently as the security footage from the hospital rolled by with barely any sign of Matt within the crowded halls of Beacon Hills Memorial. “There was a six-car pileup that night, the hospital was jammed.” Stiles' dad noted, scratching the back of his neck like he did when he was running on fumes.

“All right, just keep going.” Stiles encouraged, setting down a pamphlet filled with photocopies of evidence that had been collected at one of the crime scenes in favour of watching the hospital security tape. “Look, he had to have passed one of the cameras on that floor to get to Jessica, okay? He's gotta be on the footage somewhere.” Stiles reminded them, nearly no sign that he'd been awake for almost twelve hours straight in his jumbled, excited movements.

Sighing heavily, the Sheriff continued to speed through the recording, his hand drifting over to a cup of coffee that had long been empty and trying to drink from it. “Oh, hold on, stop!” Scott's cry startled the Sheriff out of the hazy fog that had descended on him and forced Stiles to bite back a terrified shriek. “Did you see that? Scroll back.” His best friend told them, pointing to something on the small screen.

As the Sheriff re-winded the tape, stopping and then allowing it to replay, Stiles saw what Scott had. “That's him!” He exclaimed triumphantly as a figure wearing dark clothes stomped through the ER hallways. “That's Matt!”

Biting his lip, Stiles' dad sat back in his chair. “All I see is the back of someone's head.” He corrected, not convinced that it was the evil, controlling, stalking, creep they were after.

“Matt's head, yeah.” Stiles assured his father with as much confidence as he could muster. It was enough to gain both Scott and the Sheriff's undivided, disbelieving attention. “I sit behind him in history.” He defended, frowning slightly. “He's got a very distinct cranium, it's weird.” Stiles pointed out as his father shook his head at his son's antics.

“Are you crazy?” The Sheriff demanded of Stiles, trying to remind him what was at stake here. If only his dad actually knew what was really at stake.

“All right, fine.” Stiles relented, moving onto another tactic. “Then look at his jacket, huh? How many people do you know who wear black leather jackets?” He asked, raising his brows as he prepared for a victory.

“Millions,” His dad flatly replied, proving that Stiles wasn't as awake as he thought he was. “Literally.”

“Okay, can we scroll forward?” Scott interrupted, leaning between Stiles and his father as the spastic boy deflated. “There's gotta be a shot of him coming at one of the cameras.”

Once more, the footage rolled past. Sick people were everywhere in the white, sterile halls. None of them the particular sicko that they were after. That was, until Stiles caught sight of the same baggy clothed scumbag they'd seen before. “Right there! Stop, stop!” He shouted, barely startling anyone now that they were fully invested in the footage. “See, there he is again.” Stiles crowed as the tape rewound to show Matt stopped in the middle of a hallway, his back turned to the camera once more.

“You mean there's the back of his head again.” The Sheriff grumbled dryly.

Never one to be totally perturbed by his father's lack of faith in him, Stiles ignored the Sheriff's comment. “Okay, but look.” Stiles pressed as the security tape rolled on, showing Matt as a nurse approached him. “He's talking to someone.”

All three of them leaned in closely as the nurse continued to speak with their could-be murderer. It was Scott that made the connection first, despite how many times Stiles had been forced to endure Melissa McCall's death stare after an unfortunate turn of events where Scott had left him to fend for himself against the woman.

“He's talking to my mom.” Scott voiced, already fishing out his cellphone from within the back pocket of his jeans and dialing the number. Squinting at the screen, the Sheriff nodded his head in agreement, turning in Scott's direction as he and Stiles both waited for Melissa to pick up her phone.

“Mom,” The shaggy haired werewolf spoke into the receiver. “I need you to do something for me.” Scott began. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” He reassured, clenching his fingers around the small device. “I just need you to identify someone for me that you might have seen at the hospital a few nights ago.” Scott rambled as Stiles cringed, terrified that his friend would forget about his supernatural strength and snap the phone in two.

Finally loosening his hold over the cellphone, Melissa's words began to filter through the room as Scott placed his mother on speaker. “Scott, do you know how many people I deal with in a day?” She asked as the Sheriff began to sort through the papers dumped all over his desk, like he was looking for something specific.

“This one's sixteen.” Scott told his mom, glancing over at the Sheriff for a moment before looking back at Stiles. “He's got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager.”

“Yeah,” Stiles added, pushing his way closer to Scott so he could try to speak into the phone. “He looks evil.”

Pulling away the cellphone with a frown, Scott leaned against the desk with the phone evenly placed between the three of them. “Scott, I already talked to the police about this.” His mother anxiously reminded him as Stiles tried to put a lid on his enthusiasm.

“Okay, mom,” Scott spoke at the same time as he snapped a picture of Matt in the open yearbook the Sheriff had uncovered on his desk. “I'm gonna take a picture and send it to you.” He told his mother, fingers flying over the small keyboard on his blackberry.

“Did you get it?” He questioned a moment later as Stiles held his breath and crossed his fingers. If Melissa couldn't place Matt at the hospital, it was unlikely that he could be convicted, or even brought in for questioning, with the remaining circumstantial evidence that was at the crime scenes.

“Yeah.” Melissa responded after a tense second.

Harris could take the fall for the murders of four people he hadn't committed. It left a bitter taste in Stiles' mouth, no matter how badly the chemistry teacher had treated him.

“Do you recognize him?” Scott hurriedly wondered. “Do you remember him?”

Shutting his eyes, Stiles prayed for the first time in a very long while, that Melissa would say yes. He couldn't image, didn't want to imagine, what Matt would do if he was permitted to continue killing people that had ever done him wrong or looked at him funny.

“Yeah, I did.” Melissa finally admitted and Stiles pumped his fists as a proud smile slipped over his father's lips. “I mean, I remember I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall.” She expounded, sounding confused. “Scott, what's going on?” Melissa asked, but Stiles attention was already elsewhere.

“It's—It's nothing, mom.” He vaguely heard Scott excuse before hanging up. “I'll explain later. I gotta go.”

With not a moment to waste, the Sheriff slapped a report on top of the yearbook. “We've got shoe prints alongside the tire tracks at the trailer site.” He shared, cautiously optimistic.

“And if they match,” Stiles eagerly explained. “That puts Matt at the scene of three murders. The trailer, the hospital, and the rave.” He listed off on his fingers.

Grinning, much like he used to before things had taken a turn for the worse, the Sheriff shook his head as he corrected Stiles. “Actually, four.” He informed the two teens. “A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed.”

“When?” Stiles couldn't help asking as the pieces fell into place for an indisputable case against Matt.

“A couple of hours before you got there.” His dad reminded Stiles of that night, watching the mechanic die beneath the car-lift, his first time experiencing the paralytic toxin of the Kanima. He shook it off and focused on the present.

“All right, dad.” Stiles cracked his knuckles, nearly bouncing off the floor. “If one's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what's four?” He questioned.

Standing up from his chair, the Sheriff seemed more like himself again. “Four's enough for a warrant. Scott, call your mom back, see how quick she can get her. If I can get an official ID, I can get a search warrant.” He informed them with authority. “Stiles, go to the front desk. Tell them to let Scott's mom in when she gets here.”

If he hadn't been in civilian clothes, no badge no gun, Stiles would have felt the need to call him sir and salute before dashing out of the room. “On it.” He assured his dad, stepping out of the office.

As he made his way towards the front desk, his heart hammering in his ears and his thoughts racing a mile a minute, it took him longer than normal to notice that the deputy on duty had left her post.

“Hello?” Stiles called out warily, creeping forward so that he could look over the side of the desk and inspect the empty chair.

Blood, staining the deputy's shirt in the shape of claw marks and dripping onto the tile floors, was the first thing that registered to Stiles' usually keen, observant gaze. Next, was the missing gun in her holster and the click of said gun as it loaded a bullet in the chamber.

Turning, Stiles came face to face with Matt Daehler, the stolen pistol in his hands and madness gleaming in his eyes. Lifting his hands up in surrender, Stiles really wished he'd taken Peter up on his offer all those months ago, because a bit of werewolf strength and healing promised to come in handy.

Gulping, feeling saliva slowly migrating down his throat, Stiles clamped his mouth shut and followed Matt's silent command to move away from the desk. One wrong move could get him killed.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Sweetheart.” He called gently, watching as Allison sat on her bed with her legs crossed beneath her. She didn't look like much, the death of her mother scarred into her eyes, but Gerard knew that if he applied just enough pressure right where he needed to, she'd snap.

“I don't wanna talk.” Allison muttered, her chin facing downwards and her eyes avoiding his. He didn't need to see those hazel, Argent eyes of hers to know that she was on the verge of crying; breaking. She was right where he wanted her.

“I understand.” He feebly tried to console, the letter scratching his palms as he fingered the wax seal his family had been using for centuries. “I'm not sure if there's anything I can say. I won't pretend to know what you're going through.” He shared, bowing his head in false respect of her pitiful mourning.

“Then leave.” She spat unemotionally. Anger flared in his gut, demanding that she pay for her disrespect. Not even Adrianna, with all her faults and talents, had ever been able to get away unpunished for speaking to him the way Allison did.

Swallowing thickly, Gerard bottled up his indignant response and forced himself to remain calm. “Of course.” He obliged her, turning to leave but stopping a moment later. “I just wanted to give you something from your mother. Partly because I couldn't help noticing that things have been kind of difficult between you two.” He added, concealing his mirth when Allison finally looked up at him in interest. “But it can wait.” Gerard assured her.

“What?” Allison began, clearing her throat as her voice came out gravelly. “What is it?”

She was curious but she was not determined, not yet. He'd soon fix that. “No, really sweetheart,” He continued on his way out, playing with the unlit fuse that were her emotions. “It can wait. You get some rest.”

“What is it?” Allison growled, stopping him just before he left the room. A smile pulled at his lips but he suppressed it. Matches, he found, were always better at catching fire to delicate situations. They worked slowly, heating up the fibers and molecules ever so slightly, that you barely even noticed when a flame caught.

“As you know,” He told her, walking back inside the room and happily noting that Allison's gaze was no longer averted, staring at him unflinchingly as he spoke. “Your mother wrote a suicide note to explain away our difficult situation to the police.” Gerard sat on the edge of her bed, pulling out a letter and holding it in his hands for Allison to see. “She wrote this note to explain it to you.”

Her eyes were hungry and desperate as they absorbed the sight of the yellowed parchment in his crinkled hands. She wanted answers, closure, peace. Allison thought the letter would give her that. Gerard didn't not lead her to believe otherwise.

“If I give this to you,” He waved the letter for emphasis. “You have to destroy it immediately. You burn it. You promise?” Gerard stipulated.

“Yes.” She replied instantly, consumed by so much grief and misery that she'd do anything for a possible release. Allison was much like her cousin in that way. Very pliable once a weakness was found. The only difference was that Adrianna had far too few and Allison had far too many.

“I want you to know she asked me to read it.” He added, holding the letter just out of Allison's grasp. “I told her I shouldn't, that it was private between the two of you, but she wanted my thoughts.” He lied effortlessly, as though he were simply breathing—that too was a sort of lie.

“As I said before, I don't know what you're going through.” Gerard repeated, making certain to use as much trivial emotion as he could muster. “I wasn't close to my own mother, but reading this made me sorry I hadn't tried to be. Because if this were my mother, if these words were written for me,” He shook the letter, his voice tightening audibly. “I don't know how I could sit still until someone paid for her death.” 

Her eyes flitted about the room before landing back on the letter. Gerard would settle for that. She didn't need to see his eyes, the anger and plots swimming within them, to feel what he wanted her to.

“Any pity I'd have for Derek and his pack would be burned out by a white-hot desire for retribution,” Gerard snarled, his hand nearly trembling from the force with which he held the parchment note. Victoria's last words to her daughter. “Or a kind of blood and destruction that would have Derek and his wolves howling, not for mercy, but for their own sweet deaths.”

She looked at him then, doe-eyed and uncertain. He supplied her with support, knowledge, training, and family as he passed her the letter. Nodding his head in encouragement, Allison's ice cold fingers closed around the paper, holding it close to her with a delicacy that nearly forced a laugh from Gerard's lips.

Placing a hand over her shoulder, Gerard left Allison alone with the last memory of her mother. As he stood just outside her door, the smile he'd been trying to hold back finally splitting across his face, Gerard reached into the back of his pants and withdrew another letter, this one's seal already broken.

The paper crumpled in his palm as he dashed away what remained of Victoria Argent's last wishes for her daughter. She'd been weak, despite her momentary courage in taking her own life. In her letter, her _real_ letter, she'd begged Allison to abandon the werewolves of Beacon Hills along with the life of a huntress.

Victoria had wanted a normal, human life for Allison but, as sweet and idealistic as the thought was, that just wouldn't bode well for all of Gerard's meticulous plans. He destroyed the letter, tossing it in a nearby toilet and watching as the blotting ink and parchment swirled the drain, disappearing forever.

Better Allison thought her mother was an Argent through and through, loyal to the family tradition and all that came with it, until the very end, than know what really happened.

As Benjamin Franklin once said, ' _half a truth is often a great lie'._

Gerard hadn't fabricated the entire letter, after all.

Only the important parts.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The Sheriff was handcuffed to the bench near the jail, the deputies had already been taken care of, so all that was left was for Scott and Stiles to finish deleting the evidence and give him what he wanted.

“Deleted. And we're done.” Stiles told him, unceremoniously pressing the keys necessary on the computer and standing back to watch him with narrowed eyes. “All right, so, Matt,” He started sarcastically. “Since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first—whatever that means—I think we're good here, right?” He asked, walking out from behind the desk to join Scott beside the shredders.

“So I'll just get my dad and we'll go, you know?” He quipped saltily. “You continue on the whole vengeance thing. Enjoy the Kanima.”

Lights shone into the office from a car as it parked near the station. Matt bit his lips in irritation as he casually swung the gun over at Scott. “Sound like your mom's here, McCall.” He commented icily, pointing the two friends in the direction of the door as he stalked behind them, gun at the ready.

“Matt, don't do this.” Scott begged worriedly. “When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave. I'll tell her we didn't find anything.” He tried to reassure him, only succeeding in angering him. “Please, Matt.” Scott ground out as Matt's patience snapped.

“If you don't move— _now_ ,” He threatened, pushing the barrel of the gun into McCall's back where the boy had stopped in the doorway. “I'm gonna kill Stiles first, and then your mom.”

Breathing deeply, his shoulders rigid, Scott complied with Matt's demands, walking out of the office and towards the front door, his steps measured and light. He was afraid.

“Open it.” Matt spat as Scott hesitated, his hand around the knob. Circling around Stiles, who he really saw no point in shooting aside from the persuasive uses, Matt leveled the gun on Scott. 

“Please.” Scott tried one more time, his anger barely concealed.

“Open the door.” Matt commanded stiffly, with no more room for error.

Twisting the knob and pulling open the door, the vinyl blinds obscuring whoever was on the other side from view, Scott took a step back as a man Matt recognized as Derek Hale came into sight, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, thank god.” Scott sighed, relief in his voice.

For one second, Matt was concerned that all of this, his plan for revenge, was over. That Derek would not only stop him, but kill him, for good this time. But, as he had expected, the Hale wasn't nearly prepared for such a thing, falling onto the floor, paralyzed, revealing the half-transformed Kanima behind him, venom dripping from it's claws.

Matt smirked as the hope drained out of Scott and Stiles once more. He really did love the agreement he and the Kanima had come to. It had made all his dreams come true. Now it was making other's nightmares into a reality.

**#-#-#-#-#**

_This was a bad idea,_ Adrianna admitted to herself as her fingers tightened around the pin in her hands, jiggling it inside the lock until she heard the tell-tale click that told her she'd done her job well.

Scott's house was just as she remembered it being. Homey, large, decorated nicely, and filled with the scents of life. As she creeped down the hall into the kitchen from where she'd managed to unlock the back door, Adrianna found herself becoming more and more envious of the life and obvious love that Scott had with his mother.

Her icy fingertips brushed across one of the framed photos near the stairwell. Only a few weeks ago, Adrianna recalled crashing into them during her struggle with Isaac. Then, she hadn't taken the time to notice them, but now she did.

The first was of Scott as a child, shiny braces on his teeth and a grown out mop of hair covering his head and getting into his eyes. He was smiling. They were all smiling—his parents and him. She didn't have to ask to know that Melissa had divorced her husband. It was written in the pictures all around the house.

Slowly but surely, the dark haired man in a suit stopped appearing in the photos. It was just Melissa and Scott, different ages, different places, different expressions, but only them. Perhaps he did know a thing or two about loneliness, as it seemed that Stiles really was his only friend prior to the bite.

Just as she'd reached the bottom of the stairs, opening the drawer on an end table positioned at the base and pulling out a brand new, unused syringe filled with amber liquid from the back of her pant's waist, Adrianna heard footsteps resonating from upstairs along with muttered words.

 _Scott's mother_ , Adrianna guessed.

She hastily stashed away the immense syringe, knowing she wouldn't have time to hide herself. Adrianna quietly shut the drawer on the end table and took a few steps back towards the front door as Melissa McCall became visible at the top of the staircase.

A high-pitched, barely smothered scream echoed down the staircase as the elder McCall became aware of Adrianna's presence, the huntress' back turned as she attempted to flee the way she'd come, despite knowing it was futile.

“Stop right there!” The woman called from her vantage point, fear and a small amount of anger making themselves known in her voice.

Raising her hands above her head, Adrianna couldn't contain the smirk that slid across her lips. This was far too reminiscent of her time spent arrested by Stiles' father after she'd lead her first hunt in Beacon Hills. She could still recall in perfect clarity, the look on the sheriff's face when her grandfather had bailed her out with an irrefutable explanation. One far more convincing to the man than the actual truth.

“Sorry, I didn't think anyone was home.” Adrianna informed the confused woman. She idly noticed that Melissa was wearing hospital scrubs, her black, curly hair hanging around her face in a frizzy halo. “I was looking for Scott,” She explained further when she was certain Melissa wasn't going to pull a weapon on her. She doubted the McCall's even owned any firearms.

Frowning, her brows furrowing as she walked down the stairs, silent, Melissa stopped at the bottom, her hands on her hips as she regarded Adrianna from a few feet away.

“He's probably not home, right?” She continued on, mimicking the bubbly incoherence she'd witnessed several other people her age using when confronted with a nervous situation. “He gave me a key when we started working together on the chemistry project for mid-terms. I need his help to finish editing it. He won't answer his phone and I had nowhere else to go. God, I feel like such an idiot. I probably scared the life out of you.” Adrianna ranted on, her lips beginning to numb from the speed of her words.

Startled back, Melissa blinked slowly before nodding her head, surprising Adrianna with how much she was able to understand of the muddled speech she'd spewed at her. “Yeah,” The woman sighed tiredly, rubbing at her temples. “That sounds like Scott.”

“You mean you understood all that?” Adrianna wondered, her expression no doubt betraying her shock.

With a breathy laugh, Melissa nodded her head, a bit of pride twinkling in her eyes. “My son's best friend is Stiles,” She reminded Adrianna, grinning. “I've gotten used to having to decipher everything he says.”

Licking her lips, Adrianna found herself nodding along to Melissa's words. She hated to admit it at a time like this, but she liked Scott's mom quite a bit. “Adrianna Argent,” She suddenly felt the need to exclaim, holding out her hand for the older woman to shake. “I don't think we've met before.”

“No, we haven't.” Melissa agreed, wrapping her warm, calloused hands around Adrianna's. “Argent,” She rolled the name over in her mouth. “I worked the last shift at the hospital. I'm so sorry about your loss.” Melissa sympathetically told Adrianna, her spare hand reaching out to rub across Adrianna's shoulder.

It took a moment for the huntress to make sense of what Melissa was saying. Then, all at once, it hit her. She'd nearly forgotten in her haste to ensure her own survival, that Victoria Argent had just killed herself.

“Thanks.” Adrianna croaked out, her throat suddenly tight. “We weren't exactly close but, family is family.” She felt the need to share. For some reason, Adrianna felt she could trust Melissa. She could only imagine the life she would have had, if Kate had been more like Scott's mother.

“Regardless,” The dark haired woman assured her, adjusting a purse Adrianna hadn't noticed was slung over her shoulder as she played with a set of car keys in her hands. “Losing your mother is never easy. I remember when I lost my mom. It was the hardest year of my life.” She laughed, tears collecting in her eyes.

“Mrs. McCall,” Adrianna gently begun.

“Melissa.” She corrected, smiling. “You can call me Melissa.”

Raising her brows, not quite sure how to phrase her next words, Adrianna started again. “Melissa, Victoria wasn't my mother,” She told the other woman, who frowned at the knowledge. “She was Allison's mom; my aunt.”

It took a moment before realization of the truth dawned on Melissa's features. Tilting her head to the side as though trying to look at her from a different angle, Melissa's tone became tighter and less trusting as she spoke next. “There aren't any more of you Argents that I don't know about, are there?”

Now it was Adrianna's turn to laugh; bitter and rough. “No,” She admitted, bravely facing the facts that would tarnish any good opinion Melissa had formed of her. “Unfortunately not.”

“Oh,” The older woman muttered weakly, avoiding Adrianna's narrowed, green eyes. The eyes of her mother. “So that means,” Melissa tentatively pieced together, her fingers shaking as she clenched them tightly around her keys.

“That Kate was my mother?” Adrianna could no longer stand the tension. The hatred simmering beneath the surface; the disgust. She was her mother's daughter but she was not responsible for Kate's actions. “Yes, she was.” But even so, bravely accepting her mother, instead of condemning and denying her, proved differently.

She'd thought that coming outright with it would dissolve away the nervous air that was suffocating her from every angle. It didn't. If anything, it had made it worse. Melissa stared at her strangely, this time without daring to look away. Adrianna knew there to be fear in her eyes. 

But then, as Melissa McCall stepped forth, her arms raised, and Adrianna's posture turned rigid as she prepared herself for whatever blow the older woman would deal out on her, something very unexpected happened.

Scott's mother hugged her. Tightly and comfortingly. Unlike any hug or gesture of affection that Adrianna had ever received in her short life. Tears pricked at her eyes, burning the lids she pressed closed in order to dam the oncoming flood.

“You poor kid.” Melissa whispered, her motherly hands moving up and down across the expanse of Adrianna's shuddering back, her breaths ragged as she strained not to bawl like a baby.

A long moment later, Adrianna pulled away, subtly wiping under her eyes as Melissa regarded her. “You have no idea how long it's been,” She tried to explain, her voice cracking over the words she'd never spoken. “My whole life, I've never,” Adrianna stuttered, her voice turning nasally. “No one's ever—I've been by myself.” She told the woman sadly.

“You're not alone anymore.” Melissa reassured her, keeping a slight distance between them as she seemed to understand Adrianna's need for independence, or rather, her habit of it. “Scott's your friend and he and Stiles are a package deal, so you've got two pals for life there,” She joked, pushing some of her wild hair out of her face. “And from what I hear, you and Lydia are pretty close.”

“We are.” Adrianna remembered the party, being poisoned and nearly dying. She wasn't so sure about that anymore. Something cold and heavy had come to life inside her after leaving the hospital, something filled with hate and vengeance. She could feel it in her bones. Somehow, Lydia had broken the rules. What was dead had not stayed dead.

“So you see,” Scott's mom smiled in reassurance, breaking her away from her thoughts. “You're not alone.”

Shaking her head, Adrianna bit her bottom lip. “But all those people, my _friends_ ,” Adrianna hesitantly named. “They're just kids. They can't help me without getting caught in the crossfire; without choosing a side they don't want to.”

“What are you talking about?” Melissa questioned, concern in her words. “Has something happened? Are you hurt—in some kind of trouble?” She pressed further, gripping onto Adrianna's arm as she tried to wave away the older woman's worry. “I mean it. You can trust me.” Melissa assured her.

Looking deep into Melissa brown eyes, so like her son's, Adrianna found that she could trust her. Scott's mother was the perfect solution to Adrianna's problem. She was neutral. She didn't know about the supernatural world around her or any of the hunters navigating through it. Asking for her help wouldn't mean asking her to pick a side in a war she had no knowledge of.

“You could say that, yeah.” Adrianna agreed, the crushing despair that'd been sitting on her chest alleviating somewhat. “And when the time comes, I'll tell you all about it.”

The skin between her two eyebrows wrinkled as she frowned, but Melissa didn't dispute her again. Instead, she shrugged off Adrianna's cryptic message and began to walk towards the front door.

“You were looking for Scott, weren't you?” She called as she swung the door open, holding it there for Adrianna to pass. “I was just on my way to see him. He's at the sheriff's station with Stiles and his father. Want to come?” Melissa asked.

The corner of Adrianna's lips pulled up in a genuine smile. “I'd love to.” She informed Melissa McCall, following her out of the house and into her used volvo.

Scott's mother was none the wiser of the real reason Adrianna had gone to her home, or the syringe she'd hidden there without her knowledge. _After all,_ Adrianna reasoned, _there are some thing better left a secret until the very end._

**#-#-#-#-#**

Rage.

Anger.

Loss so potent and sharp, that Allison could feel it stabbing her lungs and filling them with noxious fumes that would no doubt suffocate her the more she tried to breathe.

Her mother, Victoria Argent, was dead.

Suicide had been stamped in neat little red letters on the official police report her father had allowed her to see before coming home. Murder was stamped everywhere else.

The letter Gerard had given her only moment before, caught fire as she set a single match down onto a decorative dish she'd once used to hold stupid trinkets like earrings and notes for school.

It burned in her hand, first blackening around the edges before being consumed by the hot, orange flame. She set the mass of crumpled, fuming paper on the dish, watching as it was reduced to nothing more than a handful of grey ashes.

Derek Hale was responsible for this. For her mother's untimely death and for the bubbling hatred in her gut that would not be satiated by sitting still. She had to move; do something, anything to release the fire within her.

Everything felt wrong, her picture frames and the collection of seashells she'd brought with her from the time she'd lived on Long Island, nearly ten years ago. It was like they no longer belonged to her. Not this Allison. Not now.

She grabbed a crystal coaster engraved with the letter 'A' on it and threw it into a bin. The picture frames, pencils, shells, jewelry, and notes soon followed. Once her desk was clear of the memories she no longer wanted, Allison moved on.

All around her room, she destroyed whatever her hands touched. Ripping photographs, tearing down banners, sweeping aside the childish, vain objects that adorned the top of her dresser.

In her fury, Allison no longer cared about the person she'd once been. Sweetness and cordiality had been the things that had gotten her here. Love had destroyed her. Love for Scott, for her cousin, for her mother. It was a poison in her blood, pumping thick and hot and entirely inescapable to her.

She opened her closet, ripping the first black, utilitarian shirt she could find straight off the hangar and, pulling off her pajama top roughly, went in search of some jeans.

Darkness was the only thing that could define her now. She tied her hair back as her fingers found the familiar case of weapons she kept beneath her bed, pulling it out and onto her desk.

Snapping the cover open, Allison carefully plucked an arrowhead out of the suitcase, inspecting the stainless steel tip with cold precision. This would be her release, her revenge for what happened to her mother.

Lifting her crossbow and looking through the eyepiece, testing the trigger and imagining Derek at the other end of her twisted version of justice, Allison allowed herself to turn into the woman she'd always wanted to be—strong, powerful, capable—oblivious to the consequences.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His ears still rung from the dog whistle Deaton had used to wake him from whatever trance Peter and Lydia had managed to put him in before stealing part of his power. Derek could hardly believe that his uncle was still alive, let alone the fact that he was nowhere to be found.

If he didn't have other, more pressing matters to deal with, Derek would have begun the search party right away to find his fiendish, controlling, psychotic uncle. Unfortunately, he hadn't, and so he'd landed himself paralyzed from the neck down, _again._

“This is the one controlling him?” Derek asked from his position on the Sheriff station's floor, staring up at Scott and Stiles as Matt Daehler aimed a gun at him, the Kanima close by and ready to heed it's master's next command at a moment's notice. “This kid?” He insisted, disbelief covering his embarrassment at permitting the Kanima to so easily incapacitate him.

“Well, Derek,” Matt leaned down to address him, his expression pinched with madness. “Not everyone's lucky enough to be a big, bag werewolf.” He revealed, basking in the moment of shocked silence that followed. “Oh, yeah, that's—that's right.” He stuttered, waving the gun around carelessly. “I've learned a few things lately.”

“Werewolves, hunters, half-bloods, Kanimas.” Matt ticked off on his fingers, laughing hysterically as his red-rimmed eyes widened. “It's like a frickin' halloween party every full moon.” He exclaimed tightly. “Except for you, Stiles. What do you turn into?” He pointed out, his gun moving wherever he looked.

“Abominable snowman.” The teen sarcastically replied, obviously irritated at being singled out. “But, uh, it's more of a wintertime thing. You know, seasonal.” He bit out just before the Kanima darted forward and sank it's claws into the back of the boy's neck.

“Hey!” Scott shouted, moving to help his friend as he collapsed, but standing still again as the gun pivoted towards him. With a harsh groan and a heavy impact, Stiles landed on top of Derek.

“You bitch.” Stiles muttered angrily, paralyzed where he lay. Derek measured his breaths as he felt a gasket bursting on the tank he used to hold his rage. Soon enough, he'd loose it and rip the twerp's throat out.

“Get him off of me.” Derek ground out between his clenched jaw, willing his body to jostle Stiles away but finding that nothing worked anymore.

“Oh, I don't know, Derek.” Matt teased ruthlessly, enjoying every moment of his supremacy. “I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kinda suck, though, to have all that power taken away from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless.” He mocked.

Derek's vision tinged red as he tried to clench his fists, only for his body to remain perfectly still and uncooperative. “Still got some teeth.” He reminded the arrogant teenager. “Why don't you get down here a little closer, huh?” Derek was certain by now that his eyes must have been glowing red but he didn't care. Not about the secret that everyone seemed to know, or about pissing off the pathetic kid that was using Jackson to kill innocent people. “We'll see how helpless I am.”

He cared about justice and courage. Two things he couldn't dish out right then, no matter how hard he tried to get up and move, twitch his toe or curl his fingers.

“Yeah, bitch.” Stiles repeated, just as uselessly paralyzed as Derek was but never one for making intimidating speeches. Derek would have rolled his eyes as he felt the urge to punch the idiotic spaz in the face, but right then, lights flared inside the office from a car parking in the lot outside.

“Is that her?” Matt wondered aloud, a vein on his forehead bulging outwards as his face coloured red. “Do what I tell you to and I won't hurt her.” He warned Scott, gun aimed straight for the young beta. “I won't even let Jackson near her.” Matt promised.

“Scott,” Stiles called, his chest vibrating from the effort. “Don't trust him!”

Glancing over at the teen, Matt bent down and pulled Stiles off of Derek, clumsily allowing him to splay onto the floor as his boot pressed down over Stiles' chest. “This work better for ya?” Matt snarked as Derek heard rather than saw the boy's struggle for air, spluttering and gasping the more weight Matt applied.

“Okay, just stop!” Scott raised his hands as he stared at his best friend worriedly. “Stop!” He boomed once Matt refused to do so immediately.

Tilting his head, Matt grinned as he took advantage of the leverage he had on Scott. “Then do what I tell you to.” Matt repeated seriously. Derek hoped that his newest beta didn't get himself killed by trusting a nut-job like the Kanima's master.

“Okay. Alright.” Scott readily agreed, restraining himself from rushing over to help Stiles as his gaze wandered over to the Kanima. “Stop!” He shouted the longer Matt's foot stayed over Stiles' chest.

This time, Matt listened. “You take 'em in there.” He told the Kanima in reference to Derek and Stiles. “You—” He told Scott, grasping the pistol with both hands “With me.”

As he was dragged into the Sheriff's office, out of sight, Derek focused his hearing as he tried to make out what was happening. “Mom?” He overheard Scott saying once their footsteps halted at the front desk.

“You scared me,” Melissa McCall told her son, fear in her voice. “Where is every—” She began to ask but never finished.

“Mom, just do what he says.” Scott interrupted as Derek made out the distinct sound of his steady heartbeat along with Melissa's pounding one. “He promised he wouldn't hurt you.” The boy finished and Derek didn't need to be there to know Matt had a gun on Scott.

“That's too bad,” A different voice filtered into Derek's ears, causing him to stiffen and draw Stiles' attention over to him. “Because I was looking forward to a good bloodbath.”

“What?” The younger Stilinski questioned, glancing between Derek and the door repeatedly as he tried to figure out why Derek had become so tense. “What do you hear?”

Sighing heavily, he tuned out the other's words as he appeased Stiles' curiosity. “Trouble,” Derek shared just as a gunshot rung out, stabbing his tender eardrums as he grimaced in pain. “I hear trouble.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“You were?” Matt asked, his pulse pounding in his ears as he stared down the demigod before him. She was beautiful to him, captivating in the way a great white shark stole your breath away. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to run away and hide, shoot her, or kiss her right there and then. “Because, I can deliver on that.” He finished, mouth running dry as she stared him down without flinching.

“Oh honey,” Adrianna drawled, her hands on her hips as she inconspicuously stood in front of Scott's mother, blocking her from his pistol's aim. “I don't doubt that you could force your little Kanima slave into wreaking some serious mayhem on this station, but what I'd really like to find out, is whether you could do it yourself; get your own two hands dirty for a change.” She raised her brow in a silent challenge.

Matt knew from the memories that had invaded his mind through the bond he shared with the Kanima, that Adrianna had killed people before. Slaughtered werewolves and murderous supernatural creatures he could only read about in fantasy and mythology textbooks. It was part of the reason why he'd found himself liking her more and more, all the while feeling slightly terrified that she'd slash his throat open.

“Okay,” He agreed after a moment, ignoring the look of horror that flashed across Melissa McCall's face upon his admission and choosing to remain staring at Adrianna. “I'll get my hands dirty.”

The pistol felt heavier in his hands, somehow. Matt had inadvertently killed people using the bond between him and Jackson, but he'd only ever taken a life on his own once. He'd felt Jessica struggle and seen her weeping for mercy. He thought that this time around, it might be more educational, not to mention that it would prove how serious he was to his adversaries in Beacon Hills.

“Wait,” Scott irritatingly spoke up, concern for his mother's safety ringing in his voice. “You promised you wouldn't hurt her.” He complained, glancing between Adrianna and his mother as he realized the conflict in his statement. “I mean, you promised you wouldn't hurt my mom.” He corrected, guiltily avoiding Adrianna's gaze as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, I hate to say it,” Matt conversationally began, glad to have regained Adrianna's attention as her laser-like stare landed on him once more. “But he's right.” The shot rung out clear and loud, like a church bell on Sunday, as he squeezed the trigger and dug a bullet through Scott's stomach. “Unfortunately, I didn't say I wouldn't hurt you.”

Yelling from where he'd forced Stiles to lock up the Sheriff could be heard in the hallway as Melissa paled, her eyes glued on her son as he fell to the floor, clutching his abdomen. “My baby,” She breathed, too shocked to register her own fear.

“Back, back!” Matt shouted as Melissa tried to approach Scott's keeled over form. In the midst of the chaos, Adrianna stood as still as a statue, her trained gaze taking in all the dangers around her. Matt knew he'd have to take care of her next. Despite how much he didn't want to hurt her, he knew she'd have no qualms about hurting him.

“Mom, mom, stop,” Scott grumbled, his voice rising in intensity and gaining strength the longer he talked. “Mom!” He finally managed to yell as Matt swung the pistol between Melissa and Adrianna, unsure which was the greater threat.

“Scott.” His mother moaned, her eyes landing on Matt as she continued to step forwards. Hate burned in her brown irises. Hatred meant for him and him alone.

“I said get back!” He repeated, lifting the pistol on Melissa and holding it steady there. Adrianna's immobility he could handle, but Scott's mom was ready to make a move. She was too unpredictable to leave alone.

“Mom, do it.” Scott begged as he grabbed hold of a nearby bench and began to pull himself to his feet. “Please, mom.” He pressed on, struggling to stand.

Readjusting his grip on the pistol, Matt hesitantly took his eyes off the elder McCall as she heeded her son's warnings, glaring bitterly at him but not moving any further towards Scott or him. “Get up, McCall.” He demanded, craning his neck to see all around the room.

“Matt?” The Sheriff's voice shouted from where he'd been handcuffed to a bench near the jail cell. “Matt, listen to me—” He tried to take control of the situation. Matt was so tired of people telling him what to do. He was the one with the gun for crying out loud, he should be the one telling them what to do.

“Shut—shut—shut up!” Matt managed to stutter out as his tongue turned to lead. “Everybody shut the hell up!” He screamed out in frustration. “Now, get up, or I shoot her next.” Matt told Scott in a calmer tone as he aimed the gun at Melissa, only for Adrianna to stand in the way.

“I was not expecting that.” He laughed under his breath, the pistol never wavering on it's new target. “You didn't strike me as the hero type.”

Pushing away Melissa's concerned hands from her shoulders, Adrianna stood tall and resolute in front of Scott's mother, one eyebrow rising in amusement. “I think there's a lot you still don't know about me.” She challenged as Scott quietly stood up. “But I think you know enough, to know that you really don't want to shoot me.”

Matt thought about it for a moment. She was right, he didn't want to shoot her; to destroy such a perfect, rare specimen. But he also didn't want her ruining his chances at getting what he wanted.

“Okay, I'm up.” Scott ended up deciding for him as he pressed a hand to the bloody bullet wound in his side and began to limp further inside the station. “No one needs to get hurt.”

Smiling self-deprecatingly, Matt waved the gun at Adrianna as he gestured for her to follow Scott. “Next time.” He whispered in her ear as she passed him. He expected her to shiver in revulsion or act out in anger, instead she was stoic and cold, not showing a single thought or emotion. It irked him.

Once they reached the jail, which was located near the back of the station, Matt slid open the bars and shoved Melissa behind them, shutting the door and locking it tightly with the key he'd gotten exactly where the Sheriff had told him it would be.

“Please,” Melissa pleaded as she pressed her face between the bars. “He needs to see a doctor.” She unnecessarily reminded him.

“You think so?” He incredulously bantered, scrunching his face in disbelief. She didn't know about any of it. Melissa thought her son was dying when he had never been in any real danger, at all.

“Hey, hey,” The Sheriff growled as Matt took a step closer to Melissa, the gun lifting in his hand. “You listen to me!” He shouted defensively, quietening down as Scott held up a hand for silence.

“It's all right.” He reassured his trembling mother. “I'm okay.” 

“No, honey,” She contested him, tears staining her cheeks with makeup. “You're not okay.”

Shaking his head, Scott pressed his lips together tightly as he seemed to try to think of something to ease his mother's worries. “It doesn't hurt, mom.” He settled on saying.

From out of the corner of his eye, Matt took note that, although she was as silent as ever, Adrianna's emotions began to leak through the cracks in her shielding as her brows furrowed and her eyes watered.

“Because that's the adrenaline, okay?” Melissa bent her knees as she tried to claw through the bars to reach her son. It set off a light bulb in Matt's head. “Please, let me—let me just take a look at him, okay?” Melissa asked him, catching his eyes away from Adrianna. “I mean, I can help stop the bleeding.” She uselessly begged, sniveling and whimpering pathetically.

It was ironic to Matt, that something so weak and soft could make a huntress, a demigod, as powerful as Adrianna long for her mother. “They have no idea, do they?” He questioned Scott, who then avoided his gaze.

“Please. Let me just take a quick look.” Melissa continued to whine, “I—” She broke off suddenly and, turning around, Matt saw that it was because of Adrianna's shaking head. 

“Shut up!” He roared when Melissa began crying, blubbering incoherently in quiet tones. “Lady, if you keep talking, I'm gonna put the next bullet through his head.” Matt callously told her, tapping the gun against the metal bars of her prison.

“Enough.” Adrianna lowly interrupted. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd lost your mind, Matt.” She icily remarked, picking at her cuticles once he turned to watch her. “Give the woman a break and we'll talk like civilized human beings.” She intoned and he couldn't hold back an amused snort.

Human beings, they were not. Him, he wasn't so sure.

“Back to the front, McCall.” He commanded, stepping to the side of the door and waiting for the werewolf to pass. Only he didn't.

“After you.” Scott insisted, staring at the gun distrustfully. Rolling his eyes, Matt shoved past the door into the hallway. As he turned on a dime to re-aim the pistol, just in case Scott had started to feel as heroic as Adrianna apparently was, he saw something strange.

Adrianna's arm withdrew from Scott's back pocket as she pushed between him to get ahead, next to Matt. It seemed Scott didn't notice, because he continued walking into the hallway as though nothing had happened. Staring at Adrianna quizzically, he was rewarded by a sly wink before the brunette dashed ahead inside the room he was leading them to.

Matt wondered what exactly had just happened, but the tell-tale ache in his side reminded him that he had more pressing matters to deal with. Focusing on what could have been mindless flirtation on Adrianna's part wasn't going to give him the answers he needed.

“The evidence is gone.” Scott dumbly remarked, waving his arms around himself to emphasize the piles of shredded police reports. “Why don't you just go?” 

Frowning, Matt blinked blurrily as he shook his head. “You—you think the evidence mattered that much, huh?” He questioned venomously. “No, no, I—I want the book.” He finally admitted. After all the time he'd wasted on destroying piles upon piles of paper in the station and imprisoning Scott and Stiles' parents, he'd reached the moment of truth.

“What—what book?” Scott stuttered uncertainly, at a loss now that Matt had revealed his true intentions all along.

“The bestiary.” He snapped back. Instantly, he felt Adrianna's glare burning holes into the side of his head. “Not just a few pages. I want the entire thing.” He added as an afterthought. He didn't need Scott getting tricky with him and giving him what might as well be a pamphlet instead of the meaty catalog he'd asked for.

“I don't have it.” McCall replied, his unwavering tone implying that he was being honest. “It's Gerard's. What do you want it for, anyway?” He wondered as Matt took into account the slight rise in Adrianna's brows.

“It's happened.” She spoke incontrovertibly, her knuckles clenched tightly at her sides as though she had to stop herself from grabbing hold of him. “You've started changing.”

“How the hell do you know that?” He angrily demanded, the gun lifting back into position against her chest as he crushed the small space that had separated them.

“Argent,” Adrianna gestured to herself, unfazed by the weapon inches from her heart. “Remember. It's literally my job to know these things.” She quipped.

“I need answers.” Matt reminded himself aloud, changing his aim from her chest to her head. He wasn't sure if being a demigod meant she could heal like the other werewolves, but he was fairly certain that a bullet to the brain would be nearly impossible to recover from with the ability to heal or not. “Give 'em to me or I kill you and then get Jackson to hunt down and murder anyone you care about.” He threatened.

The memories he'd gained from all the times Adrianna had tried to kill the Kanima, draining the life force out of Jackson but trading invaluable experience and knowledge in order to do so, told him that, despite her outward appearance, Adrianna had a soft spot for Derek's pack. He'd start with Scott, tell the Kanima to flay him alive in front of her, and then move onto Isaac—him he'd treat extra special; he might even throw in a decapitation—until he got to Erica and Boyd and ended at Derek.

He didn't care how long it took. He wouldn't stop until she told him what he wanted to hear.

And then, her expression became stormy, as though she could hear his death-ridden thoughts. With barely a moment's notice, she grabbed hold of his gun with one hand, snapping his elbow to the side with her other, and disarmed him in the blink of an eye.

Her hands wound around the gun familiarly, like she'd done it a thousand times before, as she held it at him unwaveringly. In his mind, he called out for help and just like always, the Kanima answered him.

In the doorway across the room, Jackson appeared, scales dancing across his skin and shiny venom clinging to his outstretched claws. It screeched out in warning the longer Adrianna held the pistol on Matt.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Scott tried to intercede, lifting his hands to show he meant no harm. “What's going on? Who are you gonna kill and what do you need answers to?” He pronounced, horribly confused.

“Drop the gun.” He ground out at Adrianna as the Kanima hissed impatiently. “I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.” Matt condescended as he felt his palms sweating. Helplessness had always been a weakness of his. It was one of the reasons he had never bothered to learn how to swim, even after what happened.

“Threaten me,” She evenly spoke, tossing the gun into his startled hands. “Or the people I care about again,” Adrianna made a threat of her own, staring at him with those fiery green eyes. “And no force in existence, not even the Kanima, will stop me.”

Breathing in nervously through his nose, Matt forced a wobbly smile across his lips as he dismissed Jackson and squeezed the pistol in his hands to make sure it was real. “Noted.” He assured her, a frightened tremble setting into his fingers as he began to realize how volatile the youngest Argent actually was.

“Like I said before,” He continued, slowly untucking his shirt. “I want the bestiary because I need answers to this.” Matt lifted the fabric so that his side was exposed along with the pulsing, expanding patch of scales that had begun to replace his flesh.

“Holy Hera,” Adrianna exclaimed in astonishment as Matt hastily pulled down his shirt. “I hate to break it to you, Matt.” She begun, only to rethink her words. “Actually, you totally deserve this and I don't actually care.” Adrianna corrected callously.

“Just tell me what's happening to me!” He shouted out in frustration. Waving the gun around despite it's earlier failure to intimidate her.

“You've screwed yourself.” She bluntly informed him. “Breaking the rules always has consequences. You forced the Kanima to kill innocent people who had never murdered anyone.” Adrianna's tone changed, as though she had personal experience with breaking said rules or perhaps even killing innocent people. Matt wasn't sure he wanted to know which. “You tipped the scales out of balance. Now, the Kanima's gonna have it's ultimate revenge by turning you into the same creature of justice you abused so foolishly.”

“I don't understand.” Matt found himself replying as dread weighed on his shoulders. “What does that mean?”

“It means that for every action and decision,” Adrianna stated logically. “There is an equal reaction and consequence. Equilibrium must be maintained, especially when it comes to the kind of bond you share with Jackson.” She pointed out, the lack of sympathy in her tone made her words sharp and hard to swallow.

“I'm sorry, Matt.” She smiled sadly, a twinge of remorse flickering in her eyes. “The Physiologus can't help you because there's nothing to help. This is the bond restoring the balance that you disregarded in favour of getting revenge.”

“What?” He scrunched his face in disbelief and denial. “No. Could you just stop—stop speaking in riddles and tell me, plain and simple, why I've started growing scales.” Matt ordered as his heart raced.

“You're turning into the Kanima.” Adrianna supplied, shrugging her shoulders dispassionately as Matt's hope for some kind of cure shriveled up and died.

**#-#-#-#-#**

As he read over the text message one more time, his gaze lingering on the final request, Chris clutched the phone tightly before passing it over to Gerard. “He wants the bestiary.” Chris spoke aloud for everyone to hear, despite the fact that Allison and Gerard were the only others present.

He was so used to having his wife barge in halfway through a briefing or strategy formulation, and having to act as an intermediary between Gerard and Adrianna when they disagreed on a tactic, that he didn't realize it wasn't necessary for him to do so anymore.

“That's not from Scott.” Allison informed them, saving Chris from any more painful dwellings on his late wife, Victoria. “He wouldn't have texted me and he definitely wouldn't have mentioned Derek.” 

Glancing up from the small screen, Gerard set the phone down as he leaned against the table. “The Sheriff's station?” He wondered, analyzing the message he'd just read to the nth degree.

“If Derek's really there,” Chris supplied. “I doubt it's willingly.” He silently considered the possibility that Adrianna, who'd gone missing since she and Allison came to the hospital and learned of Victoria's death, was behind Derek's presence at the station. It wouldn't have been the first time Gerard worked behind his back, moving chess pieces he shouldn't have had access to in order to reach his final goal; whatever that happened to be.

“You think Jackson's there, too?” Allison questioned as she reinserted herself into the conversation. It was hard not to forget, for a moment, that she was there. Adrianna's presence was so much louder and more certain than Allison's wispy, inexperienced one. And yet, there was an anger that simmered beneath the surface in his daughter's gaze which matched Adrianna's temper exactly.

“Maybe.” Chris couldn't find the conviction to entirely agree. “Maybe him and the one controlling him.” He theorized.

“How many do they keep on in a night shift?” Gerard asked the more pressing question, steepling his fingers in front of him in a rare moment of absolute patience. It set off alarm bells in Chris' mind as he unrolled the schematics kept hidden in the drawers beneath the tabletop.

Pointing to the hallways he knew would be guarded on the Sheriff station's blue prints, Chris pressed his lips together as Allison helped him keep the large map spread out on the counter. “Since budget cuts, maybe four at the most.” He considered thoughtfully. “My guess would be they're either dead or paralyzed by now.” Chris added seriously.

Leaning back, Gerard's lips curved in satisfaction as he regarded the map. “This might just be the confluence of events we've been hoping for.” He shared a brief insight into his thoughts. It hinted at blood and destruction.

“Confluence,” Chris interrupted, his brows raised in a silent question he dared not ask. “Or conflagration?”

Eyes narrowing to hide away the answer, Gerard easily swept aside his son's question. “I'm open to both.” He agreed, inadvertently confirming Chris' suspicions. If it were up to his father, Beacon Hills would be burned to the ground, everything and everyone dead.

“What do we do now?” Allison voiced from her side of the table, her fingers spread wide over the map, the tips turning white from the amount of pressure she was applying. Chris knew it irritated her when he and Gerard spoke in their own coded communication. She was so innocent and naive. She didn't know the truth about Gerard. He hoped she never would.

“Maybe you should tell us.” Gerard surprised him by answering. “That authority falls to you now.”

“Not at her age.” Chris immediately refuted, his stare lingering on Gerard's frosty gaze. “Besides, Adrianna is next in line according to her experience level. She should be the one to take over.” He attempted to assuage the situation.

“Allison's older than Adrianna. She's almost eighteen.” Gerard reminded him, something conniving ringing in his voice. “She knows there's a difference between revenge and retribution. Don't you, Allison?” He pointedly demanded.

Licking her lips uncertainly, Allison's brow furrowed as she thought over her grandfather's proposal. Chris could see the doubt churning in her eyes and wriggling into her thoughts. Despite how it afflicted her, he prayed that it strengthened enough for her to relinquish the spark of rage he'd seen in her.

“Maybe dad's right.” She eventually admitted, her voice tight but loud enough for all to hear. “Adrianna has had more training than me; she knows what she's doing. She always knows what she's doing.” Allison ended in a quiet, partly aggravated tone. “Besides, she's been hunting for years. We can trust her to handle this— _apathetically._ ” She pronounced carefully.

To Chris, it was a relief to know that his daughter, even in her grief clouded haze, understood that she was compromised and unfit to accept the responsibility, or make the decisions, Gerard was suggesting she undertake. Unfortunately, it also meant that she was unstable enough to become susceptible to his father's meddling.

A pit settled into his stomach as Gerard spoke again, his words rumbling through the air, charged and dangerous. “Do you know with absolute certainty, that you can trust your cousin?” He forced her to reconsider. “You only just met her a few weeks ago. How can you so easily hand over the fate of your family's ancient tradition, to a person you barely know?” Gerard wondered as he circled the table, ending up standing behind Allison, his hands over her shoulders.

Chris stiffened where he was but made no move to intervene. He knew the delicacy of Gerard's attack on Allison. If he wasn't careful, his father might take away the last remainder of Chris' family. And yet, he couldn't allow himself to stand still and let Gerard corrupt Allison as he had Kate. It would be too cruel.

“Of course she can trust Adrianna,” Chris replied in Allison's stead as his daughter mulled over her thoughts, biting her bottom lip uncertainly. “They've had each other's backs ever since she arrived in Beacon Hills. In the space of a few weeks, they've become like sisters. Right Allison?” He tried to remind her, to snap her out of whatever trance Gerard had placed her under, but her eyes refused to meet his as her fingers clenched on the tabletop and a part of him knew right then that she was lost to him.

“If they were so close, then where is she now?” Gerard supplanted, bitterness and raw greed making itself known in his over enunciated words. “The day when Allison needs her the most, the day when her mother dies, Adrianna is nowhere to be found.” His fingers tightened their grip over Allison's shoulders as he leaned in close to her ear to speak his peace.

Frowning, Allison shrugged away, waving her hands around her as she shook her head. “She had other things to do, more important things.” Allison seemed to try to excuse, her hazel orbs becoming glossy from unshed tears.

“More important than comforting her only cousin, whom she shares a sororal bond with, on the most devastating day of her life?” His father insisted, not moving to follow Allison as she distanced herself from them both. “You were there for Adrianna, when she lost Kate. Why doesn't she repay the favour?” He pressed and Chris closed his eyes to avoid seeing the skeptical look that flashed across Allison's features.

“She's probably with Scott.” Allison whispered, her voice a fractured mess. “She's been helping us with the Kanima. Stopping the murders is—it's more important than anything else.” She choked out, not believing her own words but uttering them out of a sense of duty.

“Alright,” Gerard conceded, lifting his palms up in a gesture of surrender. Chris immediately became suspicious. His father never surrendered this easily. _Never_. “Since you seem so intent on defending Adrianna's tactless, disrespectful actions, why don't you answer—”

“Enough,” Chris shouted as Allison fragile form began to tremble. She'd already endured so much, he couldn't permit her to endure this too. “That's enough.” He repeated strictly, breaching the few steps between him and Allison to wrap an arm around her as she stood perfectly still and unresponsive, nearly hyperventilating.

“You're quite right,” His father nodded his head, a tone of sickly sweet apology dripping from the admission. “I've taken it too far. If Allison wants to believe with blind commitment that her cousin is trustworthy, who am I to dispute her?” He sarcastically remarked.

Sighing heavily, Chris rubbed Allison's shoulders as her breathing leveled out. He glared at Gerard who simply stared back, his gaze steely and revealing none of his intentions. Chris wished, right then, for some way to know what his father had in store for them. Too often, he never saw Gerard's plans coming. It had been how he'd lost Kate.

“Wait,” Allison rumbled, her throat scratchy and rough. “What were you going to ask me?” She demanded, her stance widening as though preparing for an impact.

Chris' ears rung and he took a step back, nearly stumbling out of surprise. “No, Allison,” He persisted, reaching out to grab onto her again only to be swatted away dispassionately. “You don't know what you're getting into.” He tried to advise her, but her angry stare told him she was too stubborn to listen.

“What was it?” She forcefully repeated, her words clipped and acidic as she wiped under her eyes to clear away the smudged mascara. Sadly, Chris knew from experience that Gerard never needed to be told more than twice.

“Answer one question, and you'll know without a doubt whether Adrianna is worthy of your trust.” He began reverently, spreading his hands wide as though retelling a grand story. Allison clung to his every word, enthralled. Chris could barely breathe, the hole in his chest widening with each second that went by where his daughter drifted further and further away.

“If you know her so well, if you shared everything and kept no secrets from each other, than you will easily be able to provide me with the right answer.” He drawled, prolonging Chris' agony and stretching Allison's patience. “Who is Adrianna Argent's father?” Gerard finally asked, his words ringing out in the quiet basement where the very girl in question had spent so many hours being punished using techniques Chris had once thought too brutal to be implemented in this century.

For a moment, Allison betrayed no reaction or emotion. She was statuesque and cold as granite. Then, all at once, her eyes slipped close and her features contorted into sorrowful acceptance as a tear rolled down her cheek. She bit her lips tightly as she shook her head in a silent answer to her grandfather's question.

“I don't know.” She gasped out, eyes opening wide and aggrieved as her fists clenched tightly by her sides and her voice cracked with emotion. “She never told me. I don't know.” Allison repeated breathily, as though speaking the words too loudly would burn her tongue.

“Then she hasn't been honest with you and you can't trust her,” Gerard outwardly told her, his lips barely refraining from pulling back in a grin. “Can you?”

Allison's chin tilted downwards as she stared as her feet. Chris felt his heart plummeting as her features abruptly hardened. Her black smudged eyes seemed ominous and predatory as her expression became neutral, like polished marble, and her pointed nose tilted up along with her squared jawline.

“You're right.” She agreed easily. Other than the slight rawness in her voice, there was no sign of the vulnerable girl so close to shattering into a million pieces that'd been there a moment before. “I can't trust Adrianna. I can't trust Scott or any of the werewolves in Beacon Hills.” Allison pronounced certainly, defiance shining in her eyes as she stared Chris down, not even flinching when he silently pleaded with her to see reason.

“Very good.” Gerard praised, clapping his hands together in celebration. “Now that I assume you've realized that the leadership role falls to you and you alone,” He reminded her, gesturing for her to stand closer to the table, beside him. “I want you to make your decisions from a vantage point of strategy over emotion, and we'll follow your lead.”

Glancing over at him, Allison took only a moment of consternation in which she regarded the maps in front of her before responding. “I want Derek dead.” It wasn't a question; not an invitation, suggestion, or even a search for permission. It was a fact; an order.

“What about Scott?” Chris felt the need to speak up. His daughter looked at him then, her eyes hollow except for the hatred that burned within them. He hardly recognized her. What he did recognize, was the desire to please glittering madly in her every action. He'd seen it many times before in Kate and only once in Adrianna. Chris had never thought he'd see it in Allison.

“Scott's not the one who forced my mother to kill herself.” Allison apathetically retorted, her words barbed and ready to inflict maximum damage.

Setting his hands against the tabletop, leaning so that he could maintain his balance and prevent himself from trying to run Gerard through with the first sharp object he could get his hands on, Chris shook his head as he disagreed with Allison's emotionally compromised decision. “He's not exactly an innocent bystander either.” He reminded her, attempting to use facts to dissuade her in her volatile course of action. “You can't pick and choose—” Chris tried to explain, his fatherly tirade slashed apart as Allison swiftly interrupted him.

“But I can prioritize.” She remarked caustically, narrowing her eyes and spitting out her words the way his sister had whenever she was angry. “And the priority right now, is Derek.” Allison repeated once more.

“What about the others? Derek's pack?” Chris tried again, this time from a different angle. The Allison he'd raised wouldn't have dared to even think about harming anyone, let alone killing someone, even if that someone was Derek Hale.

Sighing from his position, Gerard pulled up a chair and collapsed into it. His skin appeared paler and his voice more tired as he spoke. Still, Chris didn't let his guard down. He'd seen plenty a victim that had fallen for his father's innocent old man act. He wouldn't be one of them.

“I'm afraid your father's right, Allison.” Gerard gravely informed her, pulling back the sleeve on his left arm and reading his watch warily. “Derek's pack may be a problem when it comes to executing your plan. Particularly Isaac Lahey. The first to be bitten is always the strongest of the betas.”

Face scrunching in confusion, Chris minutely shook his head as Gerard's gaze demanded he remain silent. He wouldn't. Not after what he'd just witnessed. It was clear to him now, what his father had wanted all along. He'd been infiltrating into Allison's life, gaining her trust and her respect, so that she could fulfill Kate's absence as his second in command.

Manipulating, threatening, bribing, and even callously using her mother's death to his advantage were all things Chris was certain he'd used. But lying straight to her face about something as simple and inexplicable as the reason why he'd want Isaac Lahey dead. That struck Chris as the hardest thing to ignore in that moment.

Unfortunately, just as he gathered the courage to part his lips, the words poised at the tip of his tongue, ready to be unleashed on his daughter to hopefully shake some sense into her, Allison spoke.

“If they try to protect him, them we kill them.” She simply explained. Her apathy startled Chris. It was so unlike her. “All of them.”

As she stood there, beginning to formulate a plan with Gerard, pointing out spots on the schematics of the Sheriff's station and tossing out duties along with corresponding hunter's names Chris hadn't known she'd been aware of, a frightening realization struck him.

He'd lost her.

In the space of a few minutes where he was too overcome by grief and shock to stop him, his father had stolen away Allison and turned her into a killer.

More frightening still, Chris wondered if the Allison he was seeing today—the cold, calculating huntress that resembled his sister more than she did his daughter—had always been a part of the shy, naive girl he'd taken for granted far too many times.

 _What have I done?_ Chris asked himself as he watched her innocence burn up and perish before his eyes in the fire that had engulfed her heart. All he could think of in that moment, was that he'd failed her. He'd failed them all; Victoria, Adrianna, Kate, and Allison.

He could only hope that there'd be a chance for him to redeem himself.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“You drowned, didn't you?” Adrianna interrupted Matt's rant as the pressure in her lungs increased and a migraine began at the base of her skull. “That's why you're afraid of water and why you thought killing all those kids was justified. You drowned.” She realized, her hands trembling as a sudden chill scurried up her spine. Death was near, how near she wasn't certain, but close enough to be felt. It didn't bode well for them.

“How did you—” Matt began to ask, stopping himself mid-sentence as he smiled smugly, waving the gun in her direction teasingly. “I remember now. You figured that whole thing out.” He gestured to her hands with the pistol, a droplet of sweat dribbling down his temple. “I guess it's only fair that you get some of my memories, seeing as I've been getting a whole lot of yours.”

“No,” She raised one brow in response to his sarcastic tone. “I haven't gotten any of your memories. I got Jackson's.” Adrianna corrected him, pointing to her head with her index finger.

“But then,” He stuttered, the pupils of his eyes widening until they nearly engulfed his iris. “How did you know I drowned?”

“Like I told you before, sugar,” Adrianna condescendingly drawled, her anger making her playful. “There's a lot you still don't know about me. Maybe you should drop the gun, go one-on-one; find out what I'm really made of.” She offered, winking as the Kanima snarled in the distance.

Swallowing thickly, Matt shuffled his feet as he seemed to carve out some more space between them. She smirked slyly knowing that it was out of fear of her. He might have had the Kanima but she was a weapon in and of herself. She could take his guard dog on in a moment's notice and she might even win. Flexing her fingers, she cracked her knuckles in anticipation of the bloodshed she'd expected since stepping into the station.

“I did—I did drown.” Matt stuttered out, wiping at the sweat accumulating on his brow and pushing back his damp hair. “He shouldn't have let them drink.” He paced the room, eyes wide open and hardly blinking. Adrianna felt lightheaded as every time he shut his eyes, she knew he was there again, drowning beneath the water. _They_ were there, the both of them. Different memories, same fear.

“What—who?” Scott tried to keep up, failing miserably. “Matt, what do you mean?”

“Lahey!” Matt shouted at the top of his lungs, startling Adrianna out of her ruminations and jolting her into action. “He shouldn't have let them drink.” He repeated, lower this time, just as Adrianna's hand reached out and her fingernails dug into the flesh of Matt's palm.

Swatting her gradually tightening fingers over his hand away like an unwanted fly, Matt pointed the gun at her forehead as his grayish orbs welled with angry tears. “No,” He commanded harshly, his legs spread wide to brace himself. “You don't get to touch me. I'm not sharing that memory.”

Breathing out exasperatedly, Adrianna pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying something that would only serve to boil the situation further. “You've seen what's been done to me, haven't you?” She questioned him, her tone soft but stern. “You know that I, of all people, have the best chance at understanding.”

Shaking his head silently, Matt backed away until his spine collided with a nearby filing cabinet. “Understand what?” Scott's voice drifted over from the other side of the room. “Who was drinking? What's going on?” He demanded, utterly lost and confused.

“The swim team, you idiot!” Matt yelled out in frustration, his face turning beet red from the effort. Glancing back at Adrianna, who forced herself to remain quiet in order to allow him to consider her suggestion, Matt returned his attention to Scott as he began to explain the same memory he'd refused to share with her.

“I didn't know they'd just won state,” He mumbled sadly, regret pitching his voice. “And Lahey, he was letting his favourites come over to have a couple drinks to celebrate. Who cares if they're seventeen, right?” Matt rhetorically asked, his hands shaking out by his sides as he continued.

Adrianna dared not interrupt, despite his blatant disregard of her offer. He was finally divulging information she could use against him. Scott, however, hadn't seemed to have gotten the memo. “Were you at Isaac's?” He lightly wondered, concern and the beginnings of wariness making themselves known in his curious brown eyes.

Nodding his head, Matt bit his lip as he turned his back on them, his shoulders shaking with each ragged inhale. “He had this first edition Spider-man, or was it Batman?” He easily went on, not caring that Scott had interrupted him. “And we were gonna make a trade. But then I'm over there and I hear music. Everyone's having a good time and I see Sean; he throws Jessica in the pool.” Matt describes, his voice thick.

“And then,” Matt continued, stuttering as he carelessly wiped at his eyes, the pistol nearing his face with the movement. “And then Bennet goes in and—”

“Bennet?” Scott piped up once more and Adrianna couldn't help but glare at him angrily. “What, the hunter?” He wondered, shrinking beneath her heated gaze.

“Shut up, Scott.” Adrianna growled as Matt shook his head, ostensibly not even listening to them.

“And then Camden,” He explained, his voice cracking with emotion. “Isaac's jarhead brother, he grabs me. He thinks it's funny.” Matt laughed, gravelly and broken.

Shutting her eyes for a second, Adrianna allowed the memory of her grandfather holding her beneath the surface of the water to consume her. Her lungs burned, her eyes teared and her ears plugged. She knew what came next. “They threw you in.” Adrianna muttered, reopening her eyes to stare at Matt. “Camden threw you in the pool and no one helped you because they didn't know you couldn't swim.”

“I—I yelled at them,” Matt divulged, nodding his head in affirmation. “I yelled that I can't swim, but nobody listens. I go under and I swallow water, and no one cares.”

“But—” Scott pushed forward, between them, but the longer their stares remained focused on each other, the harder it became for Adrianna to keep track of the world around her. “That wasn't their fault. They didn't know.”

“And I see these bodies underwater.” Matt spoke and it was as though he was only telling her. It was just the two of them, stuck in their worst nightmares. “I—I see Jessica's got her hands down Sean's board shorts. Tucker's grabbing Kara. And I'm drowning. I'm dying, and they're laughing.” He spat, vengeance gleaming in his watered gaze.

Shaking his head, Matt turned away from Adrianna, running a hand through his hair once more before leaning against the wall, as though he was physically draining himself by telling the story. “All of a sudden, I was just—” He muttered to the wall, voice cracking. “I'm lying by the pool and Lahey is right there, right above me, and he says—'You tell no one!'”

The gun trembled in his palm as his features compressed in agony. Adrianna heard the words in a different voice. The voice of a dead man. “This, this is your fault!” Matt shouted loudly, spittle spraying from his chapped lips. “You don't know how to swim? What little bastard doesn't know how to swim?”

Lights around her became distorted and blurry. Adrianna blinked to try to clear her vision. “You say nothing! You tell no one! No one!” Matt finished in a whisper as Adrianna's body swayed, unbalanced the longer her consciousness threatened to stay in the past.

“And I didn't. I didn't tell anyone.” He informed them lowly, his tone racking shivers up Adrianna's spine. Behind Matt, barely concealed by the shadows in the room, stood a man in his mid-fifties. Hair turning gray, small spectacles perched on his crooked nose and blood gushing from an immense gash in his head. Somehow, despite never having met the man, Adrianna knew it was Isaac' father.

“I would see them at school, and they wouldn't even look at me.” Matt carried on, oblivious to ghost behind him. In the back of her mind, Adrianna knew that it was because only she could see him. “I'd wake up in the middle of the night. I'd gasp for breath.” He narrated as a trickle of cold sweat slid down the length of Adrianna's spine.

Measuring each shaky inhale, Adrianna bit her bottom lip, _hard,_ in the hopes of returning herself to reality. She hadn't seen the dead in many years, back when she'd first started learning to control her powers. Wetness around her nose and eyes told her she was likely bleeding. It reminded her why she was here in the first place, experiencing so many strange things, not even aware that she was dying until a few days ago.

“And my parents, they thought I was an asthmatic. They—they—they—they,” Matt tripped over his words, the fingers on his empty hand curling as though wanting to dig into something. “They even gave me an inhaler. They didn't know that every time I closed my eyes, I—I was drowning.” He managed to complete.

Before her eyes, the apparition transformed, it's features regressing in age and severity until it was no longer Mr. Lahey standing there, his hollow eyes boring holes through her. Instead, the young couple Matt had killed next, took his place.

“You know about that little white light that they talk about?” Matt questioned idly, his tone becoming morose. “The one you see when you die? Well, I didn't see anything. Just darkness. Everything was dark.”

The wails of a child shattered Adrianna's eardrums. She winced in pain as they reverberated around the room, like sonar waves bouncing away from anything they came into contact with, directing themselves back to her and Matt; the source.

“But then—” The Kanima's master growled, all of the sadness leaving his voice as it was replaced by twisted humour, maybe even pride. “Then came the Argent's funeral and everything changed. I was taking some photos and then, purely by accident,” He laughed thickly, cruelly. “Lahey gets in one of the photos. I look down at the screen on my camera and I just had this unbelievable rage that fills up inside of me, and I just—I look at him and I—I wanna see him dead.”

Faces changed in rapid succession. The mechanic, the hunter, the woman from the rave. Each and every one of Matt's kills. The people he'd forced the Kanima to slaughter and bend the rules for. Adrianna clenched her fists tightly as the next face became one she'd recognize anywhere.

Pressing his lips together to withhold a smile, Matt shook his head as though he still couldn't quite comprehend the truth. “And the next day,” Matt swallowed, breathing in deeply as he seemed to overcome his instability. “He actually was.”

Standing in the shadows, his curly hair matted with blood and his skin pale as snow, was Isaac Lahey. A dagger like pain shot through her heart and Adrianna stumbled as she beheld him. Warmth blossomed beneath her fingernails and for the first time, she glanced down at them only to notice that blood was caked beneath them. Matt's blood.

Isaac was his next target.

Adrianna knew he wouldn't stop there. He'd kill anyone that got in his way. It wasn't about revenge or justice anymore. It was about power.

“You know, Einstein was right.” Matt pointed out brightly. “Imagination is more important than knowledge. It was like something out of Greek mythology. Like—like the furies coming down to punish Orestes.” He ranted passionately.

Something inside of Adrianna snapped, like the final pebble that shattered the ice sheet covering a newly frozen lake. “You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?” She dully registered him asking Scott. Anger simmered in the pit of her stomach, blazing in her eyes and freezing her burning fingertips with a frigid rage.

“Was—was he the guy who stabbed out his eyes?” Scott wondered as Adrianna's hands trembled by her sides, the temperature dropping in the room enough for both boy's foggy exhales to be seen.

“God, that's Oedipus, you dumbass!” Matt berated loudly, shaking the gun by his side as he seemed fond of doing. “The furies are deities of vengeance. Their tears ran of blood and they had snakes for hair. If there was a crime that had gone unpunished, the furies would do the punishing.” He lectured.

Her chin tilted towards the floor, stray muddy blonde strands of hair falling in front of her down-turned face, Adrianna could no longer remain silent. “What do you know of the furies?” She spat beneath her breath as the power within her became nearly impossible to contain. The instinct to protect all those Matt would kill, overcoming her initial rage. “You learn from books and stolen memories. They do not always tell the whole truth.”

Raising his brows, devoting his whole attention towards her in an instant, Matt seemed startled by her words. “I know all that I need to.” He explained simply, as though speaking to a particularly unpredictable child. “Jackson is my fury. When I saw him the next night, it was like this bond had been cemented between the two of us and no one could separate us. Not even you.” Matt grinned smugly, stepping away from her as he rounded closer to the windows lining the back wall of the office.

“Although I'll admit, you came this close.” He pressed his index finger and thumb near each other, leaving a tiny space between them. “But in the end, Jackson knew who his real master was.”

Closing her eyes, the faces of Matt's next targets burned themselves into her eyelids. She knew they weren't real—none of them had been killed yet—but that didn't mean their stares didn't feel any less intense, silently demanding she do something.

“I knew he had killed Lahey for me, and I knew he would do it again. So I went to Tucker's garage. I even paid for an oil change.” Matt snorted in amusement as he went on with his story, intent on finishing it. “And guess what? He didn't even recognize me.” He grunted, jaw clenched tightly as he presumably recalled the events.

As slowly as she could, Adrianna's hand migrated to the back of her pants, where she kept a spare set of knives. It had been foolish of Matt not to disarm her himself. His own pride had blinded him. He'd thought she was afraid of the gun and the Kanima. He'd thought wrong.

“So when he wasn't looking, I took a shot of him from my camera and in a few hours, he was dead.” Madness twinkled in his gaze. Adrianna paced herself, waiting for the opportune moment. “So I took more pictures. All I had to do was take their picture, and Jackson would take their life.” He nearly laughed, the air catching in his throat as he seemed to finally become aware of Adrianna's ignorance to his boasting.

“What are you doing?” He asked frantically. She didn't need to open her eyes to know he'd raised the gun on her. Scott's frightened breathing on her left did that for her. “Look at me, dammit. Open your eyes!” Matt commanded, the safety clicking off.

“Adrianna, do what he says.” Scott tried to persuade her. If she'd been like him, she would have known that his heart was racing and fear was emanated off of him like a pungent cologne. “Matt, drop the gun. We can solve this peacefully. No one else has to get hurt.” He attempted to placate.

Her lips pulled back in a wicked smirk. She knew she had Matt's undivided attention. It was time.

“You know, you were right about the furies. Partly right, anyway.” Adrianna divulged, her arms loosely held behind her back as her fingers wrapped around the familiar leather wrapped handles on her knives. “The furies are weapons of vengeance. One in particular being more fond of it than the others.”

She remembered her childhood. Remembered learning about all the myths and legends as the Argents tried to prepare her to fight and destroy them, only for her to meet them in person not long after and be utterly insignificant, having to start anew.

“But vengeance isn't their only purpose.” Adrianna reminded Matt, pulling away her knives from their crossed holsters and concealing them by her sides. “They're judges, meant to maintain balance and justice.”

Opening her eyes, Adrianna stared long and hard into Matt's slate grey eyes. She prepared herself, pulling her muscles taut and forcing strength into her shuddering bones without the help of an adrenaline shot. It was agony, but it was well worth it; to know that she was still just as capable as she'd been before coming to Beacon Hills and not the naive, weak and dying fool Gerard had taken her to be.

“They are not executioners.” She snarled, pulling forth her knives and going in for the kill. Matt's eyes widened and his finger stuttered over the trigger in his surprise, giving her just enough time to slam into him before the first shots rung out.

 _Bang, bang, bang._ The gun barked loudly, bullets flying past her head too fast for her to see. She dug her elbow into Matt's chest as she turned, slashing at his arms and lower abdomen before attempting to kick his legs out from under him. It would have worked, had she been able to complete the maneuver, and she wouldn't have had to worry about the Kanima at all.

A flare of blinding, white-spotted pain spread throughout her shoulder, burning cold and hot at the same time as Matt's aim finally pulled through with an on-target shot. The momentum of the bullet pulled her down to the floor, her outstretched leg never colliding with Matt's.

Grunting as all the air in her lungs was expelled with the impact, Adrianna didn't even have a second to recover before she was forced to roll over on her side in order to avoid the volley of gunfire heading her way. The lights shut off overhead, replaced by wailing sirens as the power was cut to the station. Something cold and awful shrunk in Adrianna's chest.

“Shit,” She cursed angrily, sitting still only when she'd reached the cover of a nearby desk. Matt appeared just as confused as she was, hiding behind a chair as he crouched down across from where Scott was kneeling beneath a different desk.

“What is this?” Matt shouted over the blaring cacophony of shots and dizzying yellow lights, a shudder in his voice. “What's happening? What's going on?”

Shielding his eyes from the bright flashes, Scott shook his head as he answered through gritted teeth. “I don't know.”

In a moment, the ear-ringing chaos halted long enough for dread to make itself known in Adrianna's heart. One by one, clang after clang signaling impact, metal canisters rolled across the room towards the disagreeing trio.

There was only a brief second for Adrianna to meet eyes with Scott, fear and uncertainty present in his gaze and hers, before gas came pouring out of the grenades.

Scott and Matt might not have known what was happening, but Adrianna did. Clutching her shoulder, applying consistent pressure on the wound in her shoulder seeping cold, blackened blood, she began to crawl across the room towards Scott before it was too late to get out.

The Argents were here and if her gut was right—that nagging, guilty, hollow feeling in her chest—than they had a new woman to lead them. Which meant, since Adrianna had not been a part of the assault, that the only remaining female Argent was in control now; that _Allison_ was in control.

Or so she'd no doubt had been lead to believe by the man responsible for manipulating them all.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her footsteps echoed across the solid concrete floors of the Sheriff's station. Her back felt cold now that her father wasn't there to protect her, watching her every move. Despite that, Allison had insisted on splitting up.

Crossbow held at the ready, her breathing measured and her palms sweating, Allison walked down one of the many long and narrow corridors in the building, searching for one thing and one thing only. _Revenge._

Turning a corner, she came face to face with someone she wasn't expecting to meet so soon, although she knew it would have to happen eventually. Skidding to a stop in front of her, his arms waving about him as he tried to regain balance, a bright red stain nearly a foot in diameter marring his light green dress shirt, Scott McCall stuttered and floundered for words as he tried to comprehend her presence.

“Oh, sh—” He started to say in place of an apology, before his brows furrowed in realization. “Allison?” Scott asked her, eyes darting across every part of her as he took in her severely altered appearance.

She was dressed in black, her long curly hair flowing loosely around her shoulders. Her expression set in stone as her lips puckered and she raised her weapon away from the boy she'd loved with all her heart, not even a day ago. Now she had to remind herself not to lodge an arrow through his heart simply for being what he was.

“Where's Derek?” Allison harshly demanded, her tone clipped and business-like. She knew he could sense her anguish, her misery—every werewolf in the station probably could—but he didn't seem to understand it.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, lips pulled back as he shook his head, confused. Allison felt a sudden spike of irritation towards him. _Why does he always have to be so clueless?_ She spitefully asked herself.

Instead, her lips formed around different words, perhaps slightly less aggressive but even more apathetic. “If you're not going to tell me,” Allison carefully pronounced, her eyes narrowing in distaste. “Then get out of my way.”

Sighing through his nose, Scott's brow pinched as he took a step forward, reaching out as though to touch her, hold her. “Allison,” He began tenderly, delicately. It infuriated her.

“Where is he?” She growled, lowering her crossbow and holding it steady across from Scott's chest. Anger boiled in her eyes, consuming her every thought and action. There was no more room for sympathy, love, or loyalty. Her mother was dead, killed by a monster Allison intended to hunt down and destroy, leaving no trace of his existence.

Lifting his hands up in a surrendering, peaceful gesture, Scott swayed on his feet, either from shock or blood loss, Allison didn't know. Searching her heart, she was mildly surprised to find that in that moment, she honestly didn't care which.

“What happened?” His throat constricted but the words past through anyway, infecting the air between them with their poisonous concern.

Smiling with only her lips, insincerely and nearly mockingly, Allison bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying something she didn't want to. “Scott—” She choked, unable to continue before clearing her throat and steadying her resolve. “Scott, you need to stay away from me right now.” Allison warned him, wary of the desire deep within her to simply break down and tell him everything. To trust him with the burden weighing on her shoulders, instead of carrying it herself. “I need to go.” She realized, tears threatening to blur her vision.

The longer she stayed close to him, the more tempting it became to abandon her stupid crusade. She was just one girl, naive and barely trained, in a world of killers and literal nightmares come to life. What more could she do than kill, or be killed herself?

Pushing past him, Allison allowed herself to look back at Scott over her shoulder. “Just stay out of my way.” She whispered under her breath, already taking off down the hallway towards the meeting point she and her father had agreed upon.

Scott's expression—the lost caramel eyes her aunt would have compared to that of a puppy, puckered lips betraying words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue, and the comprehension in his pinched brows—burned into Allison's memory. She was the cause of it, of his sadness and remorse.

Breathing in deeply, Allison focused on her pounding steps underfoot and navigating the oftentimes confusing maze that was the Sheriff's station, instead of the boy she'd left behind in the hall, standing alone.

Pulling open the door to the storage room and stepping inside, idly studying the rows upon rows of shelves, filled to the brim with boxes holding all kinds of evidence, Allison nearly didn't notice her father standing on the opposite side of the room.

It was only when his determined blue eyes met hers, fingers curled in a hand gesture that had become very familiar with her as of late, that she understood why he hadn't called out to her before, choosing to remain silent.

The Kanima was in here with them.

Moving forward in synchronized steps, Allison and her father slowly approached one of the many towering shelves. Deep within the aisle created between the two shelves came a low grating, hissing sound that affirmed her father's suspicion.

Fear grasped Allison's pulse as her heart hammered against her rib cage, threatening to break free and flop about on the concrete floors uselessly. Gripping onto her weapon with more force so as to stave the trembling in her fingers and the raggedness in her breathing, Allison nodded her head once her father gave the command to cover him as he advanced.

He seemed to sense her uneasiness as he approached the aisle. Turning his head ever so slightly to look at her, his lips pulled back in a reassuring smile, Chris didn't have the time to react defensively as the Kanima sprung onto him, crashing them both to the ground in a tangled heap of scale and cloth-covered limbs.

A terrified squeak slipped past Allison's whitened lips as a thousand different scenarios ran past her mind's eye. It could kill her so many ways, each bloody and painful. She didn't stand a chance against it. The crossbow wavered in her hands, nearly falling to the floor. Allison wanted to run away, to listen to the frightened, cowardly voice in her head telling her to abandon her father and save her own skin.

But then, her father's pained grunts rung out in the room, followed shortly by the Kanima's satisfied shrieks and hissing, and Allison remembered herself. She was a hunter—an Argent—and no matter the odds, she would fight against any creature spilling innocent blood.

Raising her crossbow and holding it in both hands, Allison aimed as surely as she could manage with her father and the Kanima struggling against each other, before taking her shot. Just like always, her aim was excellent and true, striking the Kanima through it's forehead with enough speed to topple it off of her father, and onto the ground nearby.

It poised readily on it's feet, a long and dangerous tail curling near it's body, at the ready in less than a moment's notice, as it reached up a clawed hand and probed the arrow embedded through it's skull.

Allison's blood, pumping hot and fast, nearly deafened her to the curious clicking noises the Kanima was making as it's fingers curled around the metal end of the arrow and slowly, deliberately, _pulled_.

Her head became light and her fingertips tingled unpleasantly as the creature removed the arrow, blood-stained tip and all, from where Allison had shot it between the eyes, releasing it to clatter across the floor between them.

It hissed loudly, as though boasting it's strength, before climbing over her seemingly unconscious father to scuttle towards her on all fours, looking very much like the lizard they'd all first assumed it to be.

With a loud crash, the crossbow fell from her slackened grasp and she wasted no more of her precious time gaping and submitting to her fear, before turning around and fleeing for her life.

Slamming into the door at the end of the hall, her feet nearly slipping on the tile beneath her, Allison easily turned the knob and pushed open the wooden barrier to reveal what appeared to be the garage of the station, police cruisers parked near the end while desks were littered across the cavernous space.

Running towards the closest desk and taking cover underneath it, Allison was painfully aware of how loud her breathing was as she waited for the Kanima to find her. Seconds felt like hours but soon enough, Allison heard the distinct hiss echoing throughout the room as the Kanima searched for her.

As it came closer, so close that she could hear it's wickedly sharp claws clacking across the floors and slicing into the hoods of police cars, Allison held her breath, hoping that it would simply give up and go away—that it would leave her alone.

She desperately wished her cousin was there so that she could be brave, instead of her. Allison didn't want to be brave, she wanted to be at peace. Although, according to her grandfather, there was no way to attain such a thing without the violence she was becoming scarily used to.

Closing her eyes and squeezing them shut until she saw stars and black spots, Allison clenched her hands around the daggers Adrianna hadn't yet taught her how to use to their full extent, as her thoughts stilled and her breathing leveled out.

Bravery didn't come easily to her. Not like it did to everyone else. And yet, she forced all traces of terror and fear out of her trembling limbs and watering eyes. Allison remembered something she'd learned years ago, in a different town, as a different girl than she was now.

She was afraid, yes, but Allison knew that bravery wasn't all everyone made it up to be. It didn't mean that a person had to be fearless. Being brave meant that a person acted in spite of their fear, with it spiking their blood and pounding in their ears as they accomplished what they set out to do.

And so, she rolled out from under the desk, her expression stormy and determined as she twirled her daggers in preparation. Climbing over the table top, landing on the ground, Allison took a running start as she rushed towards the Kanima, vaulting on top of one of the police cars and using it to throw herself into the air, towards the creature that paralyzed her insides and reduced her to a quivering, teary mess.

Her newly sharpened blade plunged into the right side of the Kanima's rib cage and even as it wound both hands around her throat, squeezing the air from her already constricted lungs, Allison found the strength to reach down and extract another knife from her boot, using her uncoordinated and still clumsy hands to stab the Kanima in it's scaly throat.

Green blood soaked her fingers, sticky and warm as she came to terms with the fact that she had no more weapons, staring hatefully at the Kanima as it lifted her off her toes, suspended in mid-air.

She gasped and choked, spluttering for even one breath as her feet kicked up and tried to aid her somehow. Narrowing it's slitted eyes, yellow and reptilian, the Kanima regarded her struggles for a moment before it screeched at her, slicing it's toxin-slick claws across the back of her neck and dropping her immobile body to the floor as it scurried away.

Allison tried her hardest to move, to twitch her foot or curl her fingers where they lay by her sides, but it was useless. Her own hair had billowed out and fallen in front of her face during the fall. She couldn't even use her own breath to move it, her lungs agonizingly wheezing in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide as they too seemed to be at least partly paralyzed.

Staring at the ceiling directly above her, Allison felt rage bubble to life within every pore and every cell. It simmered quietly beneath the surface. A new part of her had been awakened. The part she'd never been allowed to embrace, until now.

The Argent part of her; the Hunter that'd been there all along.

Footsteps alerted her of his arrival before she saw him. They were slow and heavy, like he was taking his time basking in her vulnerability. If she'd been able to move, Allison would have picked herself up off the floor and dealt one of the nasty, brain-muddling right hooks Adrianna had just recently taught her how to properly form. As it was, she simply lied there, unable to do much more than seethe quietly as Matt Daehler crouched down beside her.

His cold, sweaty fingers brushed away the hair from across her face and their eyes met, brown on gray, as he smirked boastfully. “You should've given me a chance,” Matt told her, his hand lingering on her skin longer than Allison was comfortable with. “Cause remember how I said I'm not the kind of guy who would say something like, _'well, if I can't have her, no one can.'”_ He deepened his voice theatrically as he repeated what he'd told her at Lydia's birthday party.

Allison felt fear rising to the surface once more as Matt's features contorted in fury, his skin tinging red as he appeared short on breath. “It's not totally true, because—Allison—” His throat vibrated with her name. It was possessive, threatening, and entirely psychotic. “If I can't have you, no one can!” Matt yelled, the veins in his neck and temples bulging from the effort.

Somehow, Allison's body became even more rigid and immovable, as though her terror was locking up the muscles that hadn't been totally paralyzed. Her breathing was nearly non-existent and her vision became blurry as pitiful tears threatened to fall across her cheeks and prove her weakness. Matt's eyes gleamed hatefully as he reached out his hand to stroke the side of her face. Allison knew she would have shuddered away from him, if she'd been able.

Instead, she merely sucked in a large breath of air and resolutely kept her gaze locked on the large, domed light hanging above her from the ceiling. A familiar screeching rung in her ears not a moment later and saved her from further torture.

Without a word, Matt fled, his steps hurried as the Kanima seemingly called for help. Once he'd left, the door slamming behind him, Allison allowed herself to breath fully. Despite her resolution to remain strong and brave, a few stray tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, dripping along her skin and stopping in her hair.

Just when she'd begun to feel something in the very tips of her fingers, the idea forming that she might be able to reach her knives if she tried hard enough, another set of steps caught her by surprise as a man knelt beside her, his form large and shadowy.

A scream lodged itself in her throat and Allison had not the strength to stop it. If it hadn't been for the hand that wrapped around her lips, effectively silencing her from behind, she would drawn even more danger to herself.

“Shhh,” A voice consoled from where the figure was molded to her back, supporting her aching spine off of the unforgiving concrete. “It's alright. You're safe now.” Her father's voice, his hands and his movements.

Allison nearly cried out in relief as Chris Argent positioned himself so that she could see him, a finger to his lips as he signaled for quiet. He lifted her up onto his bent knee and wrapped her in his arms as he carried her away from the place where she'd learned how to overcome her fear with bravery.

She felt like a failure, like she was as utterly weak as she'd once been so many months ago when Peter Hale had locked them all in the school overnight. Then, Kate had trained her and siphoned some of her fear away with strength and precision.

Now, Allison didn't have anyone to do that for her. Gerard couldn't help her set aside something like this, Adrianna wasn't likely to want to if her loyalties where with who Allison thought they were, and her father was averse to her learning anything about hunting in the first place so it was only logical to assume that he wouldn't want any part in her becoming the permanent leader of the hunt.

She thought about Scott and Stiles, how they would react to seeing her like this—how one of them had _already_ reacted—and she knew that they were not her allies in this. Her family, what remained of it at least, was all she had left in the world. Even they could not help her.

It was just her now, all by herself. One woman—one girl—against things she didn't even know existed a year ago.

One mission, one goal, one target.

Uphold the Argent code.

Avenge her mother.

Kill Derek Hale.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Come on, come on, come on!” Melissa cheered as the Sheriff's pained grunts finally ceased, the bolt that'd once held his cuffs securely to the wall dangling unimpressively from his wrist. They smiled at each other, relief and concern obvious in both of their gazes. They had kids after all, they were parents.

Wrapping her hands around the prison's metal bars, pressing herself as close to them as she could, Melissa nodded her head as the Sheriff looked around him for the key to her cell.

In his distraction, he didn't notice the boy sneaking up behind him with a large, heavy looking paper weight in his hand. Melissa did. Her lips formed around words she wasn't even sure would be right or understandable. Her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth and pronouncing anything felt like a massive undertaking. She barely did more than squeak out a few unintelligible syllables before the metal object came crashing down on the back of Stilinski's head with a resounding clunk.

The Sheriff fell to the floor, limp and unconscious as Matt stood over him victoriously. Something about the way he smiled, that strange look in his eyes, told Melissa that there was more than what was on the surface with him. He had a reason for doing this. They always did. It was figuring out what that reason was, that would gain her the upper hand.

“Matt?” Melissa uncertainly started, her eyes still flittering between the collapsed Sheriff and the boy that was responsible for all the violence and bloodshed happening that night. “Matt, please, listen to me.” She nearly begged, fresh tears smearing the already ruined makeup she'd applied before going to work the late shift at the hospital. “My son has been shot and I've heard other gunfire. I don't know what's happening, but can you please let me see my son?”

Narrowing his eyes, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief, Matt's lips rose in mocking humor as he approached her with a pistol still clutched in his hand. “How totally clueless are you people?” He wondered acidly, waving the gun near her face as he seemed to try to puzzle it out.

A strange sound, almost like the grunting of an animal, similar to a large dog or wild cat, echoed across the room. Melissa's brows furrowed as she noticed Matt's posture become rigid. Red pinpricks of light caught her attention and she looked behind Matt, towards the doorway of the room leading back to the front of the station.

Fear was instantly present, followed by confusion, and then even more fear. Her legs shook beneath her, threatening to stop supporting her and drop her onto the ground just like the Sheriff had been.

Standing in the doorway was not a man, no. He might have looked like a man—with two arms and legs, two ears and eyes, one mouth and nose—but Melissa knew that he was a monster.

It's eyes were red as rubies, shining viciously in the dim light of the station, and it's face was contorted in a gnashing growl as Melissa began to realize that it didn't just look like an animal; it _was_ one.

Pointed teeth were bared as it snarled, loud and ferocious. It reminded Melissa of documentaries she'd seen on African lions and wild wolf packs. Claws seemed to extend out of it's fingernails, sharp as knives, glittering with the promise of blood yet to be spilled and flesh yet to be torn. The tips of it's ears were pointed and covered in wiry, brownish hair.

Though the man's face appeared not to be altered, aside from the strange wrinkles and contours that made themselves known when it finished it's roaring, Melissa could not think of it as a person. As a human male she might have passed on the street, or a child she could have sent her son to school with.

Animal. Beast. Monster. Those were the only words she could think of to describe it, the creature with the glowing eyes and sharpened fangs for teeth.

The wolfish man growled low in his throat, almost in warning, as he slowly distanced himself from the door frame, walking into the room and towards Melissa and Matt.

Her pulse flew through the roof the closer he— _it_ —got. His fingers stretched wide by his sides and it didn't take much for Melissa to imagine red, viscous blood dripping from those claws. Matt backed away, his shoulders colliding with the bars of Melissa's prison as he soon realized he had no way to escape.

There was a very loud, very convincing part of her that demanded she close her eyes, huddle in the corner of her cell with her knees pulled close to her chest, and wait for the creature to leave—perhaps kill the boy outside and then abandon her to the safety of her cage.

A different part, the part that was a protective mother, told her to do as much as she possibly could to break free and protect the young man that had shot her son and quite obviously taken the wrong path in his life. But did that really mean he deserved such a grisly demise?

Before she had the chance to decide what she should do, which part of herself she should listen to, the half man—half animal she vaguely recognized as a fugitive the entire county had been after not even four months ago, lunged forwards at Matt.

A high-pitched, raspy scream emitted out of Melissa's throat, ripping past her vocal chords and shattering the still air around her as the creature landed on top of Matt and began to slash it's claws through anything it could reach.

The boy's expression was pinched in agony as his eyes shut tightly and he tried, without success, to push the mighty beast off of him. Melissa's knees kicked up one by one as her mind raced to try to find a way out of the prison. She only had a few seconds, she knew, before it would be too late.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if all those wild animal attacks that had been happening recently, weren't really caused by cougars and bears.

A bead of sweat dribbled down her temple, reminding her of the rapidly shortening space of time she had left to figure out how to save the boy that'd been her captor, not a moment ago. Blood began to seep out of a particularly deep gash on Matt's forearm, gathering in a small puddle beneath him that was getting bigger by the second.

Banging her hands against the bars, Melissa found her voice as she tried the last thing possible to save Matt's life. “Hey, get off of him!” She yelled with more courage than she felt. “You're killing him. Get off—”

Her next words were cut short as the wall to her right exploded in a sudden shower of rubble. Coughing to try to clear the dust from her lungs, Melissa felt a shiver run up her spine as she began to make out two figures among the destruction.

One was clearly human, a girl at that, moving with speed and skill that astounded Melissa by simply watching it. She kicked and ducked, rolled and dodged each of her attackers movements using the kind of gracefulness that Melissa remembered noticing ballerinas and gymnasts shared. A long, sharp blade held tightly in each hand, and an expression describable only as thunder itself, there was no doubt in Melissa's mind that there was a reason her blood sung with fear and dread.

The other was a different story entirely.

As frightening and intimidating as the girl was to behold, her attacker was worse; much worse. To start, it was easily double the girl's size, which in and of itself made Melissa wonder how the young woman managed to hold her own against it. Then, came the claws and fangs—the yellow, slitted eyes. The green, scaly skin extending out from it's hindquarters into what must have been an eight foot long tail.

 _Yes, a tail._ Melissa admitted to herself shakily.

And if it's appearance and size weren't enough to short-circuit Melissa's barely functioning thoughts, the _thing_ was hissing—like a snake. Shrieking and screeching inhumanely each time the girl managed to avoid it's deadly wrath or inflict damage of her own doing. The reptilian creature scuttled around as though it were trying to reach Matt, who was still lying beneath the other wolf creature, one arm extended out towards the scaled monster.

Melissa didn't even notice her breathing as it quickened and she nearly reached hyperventilation. Her eyes were stuck on the lizard, darting back and forth between the girl in brown leather—who still had her back to Melissa—and the hairy beast that had reluctantly abandoned Matt in favour of joining the fight against the reptile.

They slashed with claws and knives, yelling in human voices and roaring like animals. Blood was everywhere, some red, some not. Melissa barely realized that she was holding onto the bars of her cell with whitened knuckles as the only apparent human in the fight was thrown through the air, directly into the prison wall.

In her tight grip, the bars shuddered from the impact as the girl groaned beneath her, a few feet away. A black, tar-like substance began to accumulate on the floor where she sat, broken and bruised. Melissa felt a dagger pierce her already damaged heart as the girl rested the side of her head against the bars and offered Melissa the first real glance of her face that she'd gotten since her and the lizard had crashed through the wall.

Her skin was as pale as a sheet of parchment paper, brown hair dampened with sweat or blood and hanging in stringy clumps around her shoulders, and a cut that looked deep enough for stitches ripping across the right side of her temple. Melissa knew that there was more damage, too, by the way she cradled one of her arms to her side, however, that wasn't what startled her.

Damage, pain, youth, acrobatic and combative skills aside, what sent Melissa stumbling to her knees beside the girl, her hands reaching through the bars to lay flat against the young woman's arms, was the fact that she recognized her.

“Adrianna?” She found herself hesitantly demanding, her voice betraying the shock that had yet to wear off as it cracked and gargled. “What are you doing? What's going on?” Melissa wondered, cautiously wiping away some of the strange pitch clinging to the girl's split bottom lip.

The girl smiled, grimacing as it seemed to hurt, before shaking her head. “Trust me, Melissa,” Adrianna replied, a note of warning in her normally expressive green eyes, which were now dulled by pain. “You don't want to know.”

Clambering to her feet, using the metal bars as a support, Adrianna stood on wobbly feet as she relinquished her hold over the only thing keeping her from falling. “What does that mean?” Melissa found herself incapable of holding back. “Tell me the truth. What's happening? Where's Scott? Is he alright?” The questions kept coming like a volley of cannon-fire. She needed to know, to understand.

“Don't worry,” Adrianna assured, the edge of her bright red lips pulling back in an amused smirk. “Your son's fine.”

Pressing her lips together, unsatisfied by the lack of information, Melissa tried to reach out and keep Adrianna from rushing away to rejoin the battle going on behind them, but it was too late. Her fingers found empty air as the Argent girl backed away, watching Melissa the whole time.

“It's better this way, Miss McCall.” She rephrased, and Melissa was glad she hadn't used Mrs. “You're not ready to know. Not yet.” Adrianna muttered quietly. Her feet positioned themselves to turn as she stared once more into Melissa's eyes, her meaning conveying itself between them.

“Watch out!” A rough, concerned voice shouted above the din of clawing and crashing. It was too late to warn them; too late to save her from what was to come.

In front of Melissa, less than a meter away, the scaled beast pounced upon Adrianna's defenseless back. The Argent had barely a moment to turn her face and watch as the animal landed over top of her, smashing her into the bars separating them and forcing Melissa to take a large step back to avoid being dragged into the struggle.

Arms unconsciously coming up to shield her face as she stumbled several feet, landing on the floor in a tangled, frazzled heap, Melissa watched as Adrianna was shoved again and again into the bars, her expression pinching in a grimace as she growled deep in her throat, not dissimilar to the way the wolfish man had once done.

Remembering the presence of the other creature, Melissa found her eyes darting back and forth around the room, searching for someone or something that could save the young girl before her from a deadly fate.

Near the back of the room, the canine-like man was wrestling with Matt Daehler, the pistol locked between them as the stronger, less human of them began to gain the upper hand.

“Oh my god,” Melissa found herself whispering, tears stinging her eyes and blood pumping through her ears, ringing loudly. “She's gonna die.” There was no one to help Adrianna as inky blood poured from the widening gash on her temple and what appeared to be a gunshot wound in her shoulder.

Scott's mother didn't even have time to think about what it meant that Adrianna wasn't bleeding red, as horror crawled into her throat and blocked her airway. She was going to watch a murder, Melissa hesitantly realized. Right in front of her face. It was going to happen.

As the scaled reptile's claws slashed over and over onto Adrianna's exposed back, Melissa placed a trembling hand over her mouth to block out the pathetic, whimpering terror she didn't have the will to halt herself. Green eyes met her dark brown. They were not afraid. If anything, they were angry; enraged.

Melissa took in a shuddering breath as she realized that Adrianna Argent was not intimidated, nor frightened by the animal ripping her to shreds. She was furious. Strength unlike any Melissa had ever witnessed seemed to possess the girl in one long moment as Adrianna suddenly turned her body to face the lizard wanting her death.

Glinting in the overhead, fluorescent lighting, the knives Melissa had forgotten about held steady in Adrianna's hands as she ducked out of the way of the creature's next slash.

“Get off of me,” Adrianna lowly warned the reptile as it lunged into her, pressing her back into the barred wall once more and taking hold of each of her arms, the shiny blades slowly hanging closer and closer to the creature's hide as Adrianna's entire body quivered from the effort. “You ugly, arrogant, cheating, no-good,” She began to list, each word marking the shrinking distance between her sharpened daggers and the reptile's doom.

Suddenly, the creature's face contorted in anguish as it cried out, a force pulling it away from the Argent. Melissa glanced over at Adrianna's knives, only to find that they were still suspended some distance away from the reptile. Flipping over it's own back, using the momentum it had gained being lifted away, the reptile somersaulted in the air to face the new threat. It's tail whipping around the room.

Crouching near the ground, feet spread wide with one arm balancing his body, Scott's back faced Melissa as he stood between Adrianna and the lizard. Knives dropping to her sides and clattering onto the floor, the Argent sighed heavily as she collapsed to the floor, a new wound present on the side of her neck where the creature's tail had presumably sliced into her flesh.

“Iguana.” Adrianna finished weakly as her shaking hands lifted up to her neck and applied pressure. Melissa would have rushed to her aid, perhaps slipped off her cardigan and used it as a makeshift bandage to stave the blackened blood pouring from the girl's neck, but right then, the lizard attacked once more, this time going for Scott.

Heart nearly leaping out of her chest, Melissa gasped harshly as a gunshot rung out in the room at the same time that Scott engaged the creature, darting this way and that faster than she could catch her breath. He dodged effortlessly, much like Adrianna once had, and landed several hits of his own on the beast's solid hide.

It wasn't until the animal hissed dangerously, scampering some distance away to regard it's new prey, that Melissa realized Scott wasn't alone in his fight against the lizard. On the opposite side of the room paced the hairy, inhuman man she'd seen battling Matt as his clawed hands clenched by his sides in anticipation. The gunned kidnapper was nowhere in sight, but Melissa didn't have time to worry.

All of a sudden, both Scott and the wolf-man charged the beast, cornering it near the far wall, but even so, the creature was far stronger than the both of them combined, pushing back and sending Scott sprawling towards her while his ally continued to barely evade the reptile's strong, concise movements.

Scott had his back to her as he kneeled on the floor. The blood-stain from the gunshot wound was still present on his side, the colour dull and already drying, as though the bleeding had somehow stopped.

“Oh, god, Scott?” Melissa couldn't help calling out, concern and dread clinging to her shattered voice. “Scott, are you okay?” She repeated as her son remained where he was, his countenance refusing to turn towards her. “Scott?” Melissa hesitantly wondered, cracking and trembling present in that one, simple word. A name she'd said so many times, she'd lost track. Now it felt different; foreign.

Slowly, as though he was uncertain, Scott's body twisted from where he was kneeling, so that the side of his face was visible to her. What she saw dropped a heavy boulder in her stomach and caused her heart to skip a beat.

It was Scott. It was her son with his long brown hair, tanned complexion, brown eyes and crooked jaw. But then, _it wasn't._

His hair, although it had always been overgrown for her liking, seemed to be even longer still; less tamed and more wild and frizzy. Long, dark sideburns stretched beside his ears, all the way to his uneven jawline. His eyebrows were bushy and thick, appearing to be pointed and wispy near the ends, almost like wolf hair.

Scott's eyes were still brown and warm, still kind and loving, but there was something savage in them at that moment, as Melissa took note that his ears ended in a sharpened tip and his brow was furrowed and pinched in much the same way the other wolf-man's had been. When he parted his lips to speak, no sound coming out, sharpened fangs became visible to her.

Without even realizing it, her feet had taken her away from the bars, further into her cell. Trembling, frigid hands lifted up over her quivering lips as even more tears fell from her sore and puffy eyes. “No!” She moaned sadly, her knees lifting up helplessly as she shook her head, refusing to believe what she was seeing.

Air didn't mean a thing to her, she wasn't even sure she was breathing. Her son, her only child, was a monster—a beast. As the man still battling the other creature darted out of the room after the fleeing lizard and Scott—or the boy that looked like him with the strange hair, sharpened teeth, and nails—took hold of Adrianna, wrapping one of her arms over his shoulder, he left the room behind along with his mother.

Melissa felt as though the tears would never end that night, and the hiccuped, strangled breaths she was able to inhale only reminded her that her son wasn't human anymore, that he wasn't normal. He wasn't the boy she'd raised, consoled, mended, screamed at, cried with, lectured, and loved.

He was an animal now.

_A wolf-man._

**#-#-#-#-#**

“What are you doing here?” Scott tactless whispered nearly an entire octave too loudly for Gerard's tastes. “It wasn't supposed to happen like this.” The boy complained, re-adjusting his grip over Adrianna as her black blood soaked through his shirt and her head lolled across his shoulder, struggling for consciousness.

“Trust me,” Gerard hissed, anger and frustration directed towards the two children that had so foolishly waited until the last moment to share vital information with him regarding the Kanima's master. “I'm aware of that.” He snapped finitely.

“I've done everything that you've asked me.” Scott reminded him, his arm winding around Adrianna's waist, the digits slick with his blood and hers. “I'm part of Derek's pack, I've given you all the information you wanted, I told you Matt was controlling Jackson—”

The petulant litany was grating to Gerard's ears. He held up a hand to silence the young werewolf. “Then leave him to us.” He interrupted Scott mid-sentence. “Help your friends. Leave Matt and Jackson to me. Deal with your mother.” Gerard informed him, his eyes sparkling when he noticed the look of surprise cast upon Scott's expression at the mentioning of his mother.

“Go on!” Gerard urged him, waving him past as Adrianna groaned, leaning heavily on Scott for support. “Take my granddaughter with you. She may not be welcome among her family anymore.” He vaguely shared, pretending to care for her well-being as he stroked her sweaty forehead.

She was nothing more than a puppet to him. A rebellious, reckless, overly smart puppet that had threatened to cut her own strings far too many times for Gerard to trust her, but a puppet none the less. He'd be needing her soon, if all went to plan.

Beginning down the hallway at a pace that was hardly any slower than he would have been without Adrianna draped across his side, Scott abruptly stopped a few feet from Gerard, bending down to floor and retrieving something in his spare hand, holding it out to Gerard. “You dropped this.” He offered as an explanation, handing over a shiny, round pillbox.

Footsteps echoed further down the corridor, their pattern that of a hunter. Gerard hastily accepted the box he'd been searching for all day, stowing it in the inside pocket of his suit. “Run!” He commanded Scott, forcing his normally booming voice to come out hushed.

Although everything was lining up exactly how he wanted it, Gerard couldn't afford to slip up and allow one of his hunters, perhaps even Chris or Allison, to witness the dealings he'd arranged with Scott McCall.

Nodding his head, Scott hurried away much faster than he had before, looking over his shoulder once before disappearing around the corner. It was then that Gerard allowed himself to smile.

Sauntering through the station, retracing the way he'd first come, swinging open the back door and climbing into the vehicle awaiting him with ease that did not match his age and condition, Gerard drove towards the river less than a mile away. It was the perfect place for a clean getaway. He knew the boy he was looking for would be there.

As he pulled up to the river, slowly rolling the car onto the wooden bridge passing over the still water, Gerard caught sight of a shadow running through his headlights. It stopped at the base of the bridge, seemingly realizing his malicious intent, before attempting to run away.

Pushing open his door and stepping out, Gerard nearly laughed as he slowly but deliberately hunted down the miserable, pathetic weakling that was the Kanima's master. It didn't take much to have Matt tripping over his own feet, fear of his impending fate and injuries sustained during his foolish endeavors at the sheriff's station working against him and slowing his reflexes.

Curling his fists into the fabric of Matt's jacket, Gerard easily pulled the boy along beside him, dragging him through the muddy silt of the riverbed and closer to his demise. He kicked and struggled, gargling and gasping each time his head went under, but he could not break free.

Gerard was strong now; stronger than he'd ever been, thanks to his naive granddaughter. He didn't need to strain himself as he pushed Matt's head beneath the dark, ominous water barely holding a current, nor did it bother him in any way when the young man began to struggle against him with increased vigor and panic.

Muscles bulging and smile growing, Gerard basked in the glory of his success as the boy beneath him began to slowly suffocate and drown, until eventually, Matt couldn't stop himself from inhaling, his jerky, uncoordinated movements halting in the fluid softening of death.

Releasing his hold on the body, Gerard stepped away from the river bank, watching as the lifeless corpse floated further into the water. Beneath the bridge, a reflection caught his attention. Looking more closely, he realized that the Kanima was crouched over top of the shiny, moistened rocks under the bridge, watching him just as distrustfully as he did it.

“No longer afraid of the water?” He asked the Kanima as it neared the river, glancing at it's own reflection curiously and then back at him.

Walking slowly, so as not to frighten the creature, Gerard approached the Kanima. “Well, you don't have to be afraid of anything, my friend.” He assured it, pulling off his leather glove with his teeth and holding out his bare palm to the scaly avenger. “Especially me.” He told the Kanima lightly, waiting for it to accept him as it's new master.

Gerard smiled as it hesitantly breached the gap between them, pressing it's roughly textured palm against his own. Good things would come of this union, he was sure. Not only would he survive his terminal diagnosis, but he would also be able to rid Beacon Hills of ever supernatural freak in it's midst.

 _Why stop there?_ A little voice in the back of his head wondered. With the Kanima under his command, he could be nearly unstoppable. Still, that wasn't enough for him.

He wanted to be invincible.

To his knowledge, there was only way he could attain such a standing.

Gerard needed the Kanima to reach it's full potential, but he needed Adrianna if he was going to be able to control it once it did so. It was time to play his last card against the rebellious demigod.

It was time for the endgame.


	11. Battlefield

He had his head in his hands, his short fingernails curling into his scalp to try to alleviate the constant, pounding of a migraine. Ringing tickled the insides of his ears, making it impossible to focus. He closed his eyes and prayed for peace. 

The knot in his chest would not unwind.

And then, over the constant beating of Derek's pacing feet against the ground, and the pulsing of his pack's hearts, he heard it. One breath, one beat, one set of footsteps among the chaos.

He looked up on impulse, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew she wasn't inside the building yet. She wasn't his anchor. No, that place belonged to someone else; someone he'd never forget—their memory seared into the back's of his eyelids—the person that made him most afraid of losing control and becoming the very thing he'd feared for so long; a monster. But she was someone special. Someone he cared about.

It was more than that, Isaac could tell, but he wasn't ready to admit it just yet.

Slowly, the rasping inhales and shuddering exhales, the fluttering heartbeat and fumbling footsteps became clearer. They were louder, closer, until she was just outside the door. Isaac held his breath, sitting as still as he could manage, waiting for the large door to pull open. For her to stand in the entrance, strong and healthy—alive.

As the door swung open, clanging loudly once it completed it's ark, colliding with the inside wall, Isaac was both disappointed and frightened to see a very different reality than what he'd been expecting.

There was blood everywhere.

It was the first thing Isaac noticed.

Not the long, shredded fragments of her clothes or the hollow void filling her green irises. Not even the fast, fluttering pumping of her heart and the sudden stop in his as he saw her for the first time.

It was the blood.

Black and gooey, clinging to every inch of her frame. It was inescapable. Like a poison hanging in the air, choking his lungs and scattering his thoughts. She wasn't alone and if it hadn't been for the arm Scott had slung around her back, Isaac had a suspicion that she wouldn't be standing there at all.

He rose up to his feet, his eyes never wavering from their place, and it was as though that one action was enough to shatter the delicate quiet that had encompassed them all before then. Isaac didn't need to turn to know that Derek, Boyd and Erica were all staring where he was. He could feel it on his back, burning his shoulders in the short distance between him and them.

As she and Scott hobbled into the large warehouse, their fumbling footsteps and uneven breathing the only sounds in the space, it felt like Isaac's primary organ had plummeted all the way to his feet. He hadn't experienced the feeling in a while—at least since his father had been killed—and yet the presence of such a reaction didn't startle him. He'd come to expect it, if he was honest, whenever the Argent huntress was in danger.

As she most certainly was in now.

“God, Scott.” Adrianna complained, her jaw clenched tightly as Isaac narrowed his eyes, her nearly blood-less skin beginning to reveal the pearly bones hidden beneath, or perhaps it was just his imagination. She was paler than he'd ever seen her. “Could you be a bit more gentle?”

Flickering his glance between the assembled werewolves, Scott hesitantly adjusted his grip over the huntress, seemingly weighing the other's reactions to her presence alongside him. “Sorry.” He mumbled non-committedly as his eyes remained trained on Derek, the one with the final decision.

As the seconds ticked by, more and more blood accumulating at Adrianna's feet and weighing down what remained of her clothes, something in Isaac snapped. He moved forward to help her, to set her down on the ground or somehow stop the massive loss of blood, but was stopped before he could get more than one step away.

“No.” Derek's firm, angry growl rung in his ears, as heavy and sharp as the clawed hand resting over Isaac's chest. “Don't help her. She's not one of us.” He explained, his posture as rigid as a steel pole and just as welcoming.

Furrowing his brows, Isaac reeled back at the exclamation, too shocked to immediately come up with a response. Scott did so for him, frowning as he advanced, Adrianna limping by his side. “What the hell are you talking about, Derek?” He incredulously demanded, his eyes narrowed as his stance widened to steady them both. “She risked her life for us back there. Just because she's a hunter and not a werewolf, doesn't mean she's not one of us. We have to help her. ” He argued. “We owe her that much.”

“I don't owe her anything.” Derek spat back, his expression turning into a grimace as his own light green eyes stared daggers into Adrianna's weakened form. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her stare never wavering despite the heat in his.

Looking away from her for the first time since she'd entered the warehouse, Isaac watched his alpha refuse to even consider helping their ally. It ignited an angry, protective fire in his heart that could not be quenched.

“That's not entirely true.” Isaac pointed out, trying his best not to allow the heat scorching his veins to show in his voice. “She's betraying her family just by being here. That's got to be worth something.” He reminded Derek.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Adrianna's lips tilt in a slight smile, her sight flickering over to him before moving back onto Derek just as quickly. “I don't care.” The alpha roughly replied, his words echoing throughout the building. “She's not our ally. She never has been.”

“How can you say that?” Scott shook his head in disbelief as the fingers of his right hand, clenched in what remained of Adrianna's clothes, became slick with her blood. “Isaac's right. She's just as much a target to the Argents as we are now.”

“Yeah?” Derek barked, sarcasm clinging to his voice. “That's what she wants you to think. She's been playing us from the start. _All_ of us.” He waved his finger towards her threateningly in the way Isaac knew he did when he was barely restraining himself from lashing out violently.

Clenching his hands into fists, Isaac felt his nails elongate and pierce through the flesh of his palms. It was barely enough to keep him human as silence echoed among them, no one brave enough to say anything to either agree or dispute Derek's claims.

“You think I'm still on their side.” Adrianna's strained words held the distinctive tone of a statement and not a question. She righted herself with great difficulty, pushing away from Scott, who's hands lingered around her as though he worried she'd fall without his help.

“I know you are.” Derek retorted hotly, his lips rising in a snarl. “You know, if I hadn't recognized that smell after the rave, when your psycho aunt was trying to kill Scott, I would have no idea what a traitorous bitch you really are.” He yelled, moving forward to close the space between them at the same pace Adrianna barely managed to maintain.

“Oh, so that's what this is about.” She smiled cynically, an ominous chill raising the hair on Isaac's neck as she wobbled before the alpha, not an ounce of fear in her despite her clear disadvantage. “I wondered when you'd figure it out.”

“Adrianna,” Isaac wondered, his thoughts racing the longer he pondered her answer. “What's this about? Is Derek right?” He couldn't help but ask, instantly realizing his mistake as pain flashed in the huntress' eyes for a second before being concealed by forced arrogance and false hatred.

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” She replied, her teeth bared as her breathing quickened. “Derek seems to have all the answers. He's figured it all out.” She mocked, glaring at him almost as though he'd insulted her. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“She's been lying to us from the start.” Derek voluntarily offered, his tone less sharp but still just as condemning, as he regarded the injured girl. “This whole time, we thought she was being noble—sacrificing her safety and her well-being—when all she's really been doing is her job.”

Isaac watched as Adrianna's head tilted to the side in confusion. She didn't seem to know what Derek was talking about, although, if the alpha was right, Isaac supposed he wouldn't have been able to tell either way.

“You're exactly like Kate.” Derek breached the space between them, leaning his body over hers in a move that was clearly meant to be demeaning as his eyes narrowed in accusation. “You never switched sides. You've been lying to us since the very start. That smell you always have around you, I know what it is. I know what you've been doing.” He shoved her away as his cheeks colored with rage.

“Tell them!” He shouted as Adrianna stumbled straight into Scott, who had stayed behind her. “Tell them the truth!” Looking around herself, Adrianna met eyes with Scott. “She's been poisoning us all with wolf'sbane—the same breed Victoria used on Scott.” He admitted, stealing away McCall's attention for just long enough. “You can smell it, can't you?” He asked the boy.

“Planted behind our defenses like a freaking Trojan horse and waiting for the opportune moment to strike us all down in our beds. It's the kind of thing only Gerard could come up with.” He shared openly, each word like a bullet through Adrianna's crumbling composure, her lips beginning to wobble ever so slightly and her eyes moistening as she refused to cry. “She never left her grandfather. She's been doing his bidding since the moment she was born. Coming to Beacon Hills hasn't changed that. We were fools to have believed differently.”

Although he'd prevented her from falling, Scott's hands didn't linger to support her as Derek's words sunk in. His gaze eventually averted away from hers in guilty uncertainty as, like the rest of them, Scott realized that Derek had a point. They'd all smelt it at one point or other. Even Isaac recalled the floral scent she'd carried around since the moment he'd met her, which had slowly intoxicated him.

This time, the wound was not visible on her face as she pushed away from Scott, her hands trembling where they hung by her sides, black blood dripping from her chipped fingernails. “You believe him.” She spoke evenly, composed. There was a cold detachment in her tone as Scott refused to look back at her. His avoidance was an answer in it's own.

Turning, she beckoned an answer from each and every one of them. “Erica, Boyd?” She asked, only to be faced by down-turned chins and wavering stares, Erica's blonde hair hanging so that it concealed her expression as she clutched Boyd's hand tightly.

Isaac stood frozen as Adrianna turned to him next. He didn't know what to say, what to think. She was important to him. Yes, she'd hurt him—multiple times—but she'd also saved his life long before ever getting to know him. She hadn't even needed to hear his voice or know his name that night at the sheriff's station, to come to the conclusion that he was worth saving. It had been the same for Derek, the one throwing her in hot water when she most needed their support.

“I suppose I don't need to ask you, to know your answer.” Adrianna hesitantly begun, a throbbing, rawness making itself known in the redness of her eyelids and the tightness of her voice. “I don't blame you. How can I?” She rhetorically questioned, biting her bottom lip as her shoulders stiffened. “I've given you no reason to trust me.”

“That's right.” Derek trampled over Isaac's unspoken words. “We don't know anything about you. You do things no human can do, and yet, you can't heal like us. You're not a werewolf.” He surmised gruffly. “To be honest, I don't even know what you are, but one thing's for sure, you're not—”

“Human?” She interrupted, the word sounding odd on her tongue, as though she was pronouncing it wrong.

“Yes.” Derek succinctly replied, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “Quite frankly, I'm beginning to doubt if any of you Argents are what you say you are.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn't you?”

The fire returned to her eyes, if only for a moment as she stared off against Derek Hale, a man who, at the best of times, was at least double her strength. It didn't seem to bother her. Nothing did, when it came to battle, Isaac recalled.

Lips pulled back in a sneer, Derek roared out loud in frustration, the wound Kate Argent had left behind clearly still raw despite it's apparent age, and not appreciating the constant poking Adrianna had been dishing out.

“They trained you well, didn't they?” His voice was demeaning but his eyes betrayed his rage. “When exactly where you gonna turn on us? Was it before or after you seduced my beta?”

Isaac knew, somewhere beneath the surface of his shock, that Derek was talking about him. If he hadn't been frozen solid, partly out of surprise and partly because he wanted to hear Adrianna's answer, he would have complained.

As it was, he remained eerily silent, as did the others. Apparently, he wasn't the only one curious about Adrianna's motives. She'd been lying to all of them but the only thing that really mattered was what she'd lied about. Deep down, he found himself hoping she wasn't what Derek said she was; a double agent.

Breathing in deeply, so much so that her entire chest inflated and the charcoal coloured blood pouring from wounds on the side of her face, neck, and shoulder trickled faster still, Adrianna seemed to steel herself against Derek's assault.

“Is that it?” She wondered, her expression clearing of all traces of discomfort as her fists clenched tightly by her sides, at the ready. “Is that your argument? Was that how you planned on pulling the truth out of me? Guilt and public humiliation? You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I'm dead serious.” Derek replied, not missing a beat. “Tell us the truth now—the whole truth—and maybe I'll let them help you.” He gestured to Scott and Isaac with his chin before moving to circle her wobbly form.

Her voice dropped an octave and the air seemed to chill a few degrees, “You won't like what you hear.” Adrianna warned. Derek's eyes narrowed but he didn't rise to the bait. “The truth about me isn't pretty; it's violent and bloody. ”

“I'm sure Kate planned it that way.” Derek suddenly interrupted, his temper stretched to the max as his claws extended and his eyes tinted red. “She always was one for blood and violence.”

And just like that, the short fuse holding back Adrianna's anger lit in a shower of bitter, raw sparks, and set off like a powder keg of explosives.

Screaming deep in her throat, the sound scratchy and painful, Adrianna—weaponless and still bleeding heavily—charged the alpha werewolf.

Isaac feared what would happen when the two collided. Whose side would he choose? Already, he could feel his heart racing and his body responding to a silent demand to protect the girl he'd become so fond of, despite the constant dangers posed to him.

But, they never did.

Halfway to Derek Hale, Adrianna's strength ran out and her eyes rolled into her skull as she lost consciousness. The momentum of her sprint carried her the remaining distance between them so that she fell, rather than threw herself, into Derek's arms.

For a split second, Isaac felt relief. Adrianna was safe, although her passing out meant that she'd lost a whole lot more blood than he'd realized. And then, his mind caught up to what his eyes were seeing and the needles prickling his skin and numbing his organs returned once more.

Because Adrianna was not safe with Derek Hale. Not even close.

The older man—instead of understanding the huntress' debilitated state and catching her before she could fall, damaging herself further—continued in his attack as his hands wound around her throat, suspending her limp body high in the air, choking what little life was left within her.

A cruel, feral smile twisted Derek's lips until he was unrecognizable to Isaac. It helped somewhat in allowing the beta to react as his heart demanded, leaping across the distance to snarl at his alpha and, using Derek's momentary surprise to his advantage, push away the much stronger werewolf from the unconscious huntress.

This time, as Adrianna fell, dark bruises mottling the skin at the base of her neck, Isaac caught her, using as little force as he dared. She seemed so brittle, so fragile, he was certain she would break if he held her even a little too tightly.

Kneeling down so that Adrianna's head was cradled against his chest, Isaac didn't have to worry about Derek's next move as Scott launched himself in between them, followed shortly by Boyd and Erica.

“So this is how it's going to be?” Derek gruffly questioned, betrayal shining in his now green eyes. “You're going to protect her even if she doesn't deserve it. Even if she's been planning to kill us all in our beds?”

Although their faces were turned from him, Isaac knew from the squaring of their shoulders and the silence ringing in the large warehouse, that the other betas were with him in helping Adrianna.

“Human or not,” Scott began as Isaac remembered to check Adrianna's pulse, using his fingers instead of his ringing, useless ears. “Hunter or not. She's helped us keep Jackson alive. And right now, she needs our help.”

Isaac breathed a sigh of relief as Adrianna's faint but steady heartbeat came to life beneath his bloodied fingers. He allowed himself a glance at Derek. The expression on the man's face was pinched and disbelieving, but it was also pained—betrayal prominent in the disgusted curl of his lips.

“She's not her mother,” Isaac quietly reminded his alpha, if he was even still that. “Kate wouldn't have waited to kill us. She would have done it already.”

And he knew his words held truth in them, despite how little he knew of Adrianna's mother, because Derek didn't refute them. He simply grunted heavily, narrowed his eyes on each of the rebelling betas, and turned around to leave.

“Don't come crying to me when she proves all of you wrong.” Derek called over his shoulder before disappearing in the darkness outside the warehouse. The sound of his car's engine roaring to life and the squeal of his tires, was the only indication to any of them that he'd truly left.

Kneeling down beside him, Scott brushed away some of the dampened hair mingling with the pool of blood collected in the crook of Adrianna's prominent clavicle bone.

“What now?” He asked Isaac, voice uncertain. Neither of them had ever dealt with someone this injured. Once more, Isaac took note that there was too much blood. Adrianna barely had minutes to live, if even that.

“Uh,” Isaac struggled to think, his mind going back to the thousands of times he'd had to patch himself up after a particularly bad beating but coming up blank. Nothing had ever compared to this. Even the health course he'd failed at in school, didn't make a slight difference.

“We should stop the bleeding.” Boyd piped up from the side where he and Erica where standing by, watching the scene unfold. “I doubt we can take her to a hospital so we'll have to stitch the wounds closed ourselves and hope for the best.” Distantly, Isaac remembered Boyd mentioning that he'd applied for ROTC courses.

“That won't work,” Scott shook his head sadly, lips pulled taut as his brow furrowed in consternation. “She's lost too much blood already. She might not have enough left by the time we manage to close the wounds.”

“What about a transfusion?” Erica proposed uncertainly. “One of us could give her blood, if we're compatible.”

Glancing between each other, Scott, Boyd and Isaac all knew that it wouldn't work. Not only was there not enough time and materials, but none of them even knew how to use an intravenous line.

With Adrianna's last, shuddering breath, it became clear to Isaac what had to be done. Already her skin felt colder to the touch than it had a mere second ago. Already, he could hear her heart beginning to slow.

It was now or never.

He didn't have time to explain what he was doing to the others, nor would he have wanted to, because explaining meant thinking and thinking meant understanding. And Isaac wasn't sure he wanted to understand the risks of what he was about to undertake.

But it was Adrianna's life on the line. The girl who'd saved his life without even asking for a reward. Who'd turned her back on everything she'd ever been taught, because she'd seen what was right and wrong. Whose laugh was even rarer than her smile, and who wasn't afraid to stare down impossible odds if it meant she was fighting for something she believed in.

He couldn't afford to be selfish now; to be scared.

So, as Adrianna's heart lay still in her chest and her lips rasped out one last ragged exhale, gurgling due to the blood she was drowning in, her eyelids fluttering with one final ounce of life—perhaps a dying wish—Isaac took hold of her frigid hand, squeezing tightly as he welcomed the icy tendrils of death to steal away his strength.

With his body tense and his eyes tightly sealed, prepared for the agony to come, it was as much a surprise to Isaac as it was to Scott, Erica, and Boyd, when nothing happened.

The fear, then, was much worse than what he'd ever felt living with his father. It was all-consuming and inescapable as he opened his eyes back up and shook Adrianna's lifeless corpse.

“No,” He whispered beneath his breath. “No, this isn't supposed to happen this way. Come on, wake up.” Isaac urged her, shaking her shoulders lightly before realizing that the efforts were fruitless.

His spare hand thread it's way through the messy tendrils of her hair as he sat back, defeated. He'd been too slow, hesitated for too long, and now Adrianna Argent was dead.

Harsh fire ignited behind his eyes as Isaac fought the urge to cry. His chest burned cold the tighter he squeezed her stiff digits in his. Scott's distorted voice rung in his ears, but the words were indistinguishable to him, a garbled mass of confusion.

His head was light and his veins felt as though the blood within them had been replaced by battery acid. As the minutes ticked by, his thoughts became foggy until the mild headache pounding in his temples turned into a full blown migraine.

A groan slipped past his tightly sealed lips as a strange sort of heavy agony churned throughout his entire body. It wasn't until later that he'd realize the groan was not his.

He didn't remember much when he awoke next, but the image of Adrianna's bright green eyes staring back at him, wonder and gratitude hidden within the depths of her gaze, seared itself into his mind as something he would never forget.

Adrianna's words rung in his ears before the blackness took over,

“Thank you.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Steam rose in billowing clouds out of the shower, moistening everything it touched and thoroughly fogging the bathroom mirror as Scott pushed aside the dripping curtain and stepped onto the cold, tile floors.

A shiver rushed up his spine at the contact but, wrapping a towel around his waist and shaking out some of the water from his hair, he did his best to ignore the sensation.

His hands clenched the side of his sink as he leaned in close to the mirror, wiping away the condensation with his palm as an afterthought. “What the hell am I doing?” Scott wondered aloud, his ears tuning into the muted sound of Adrianna's breathing coming from his room.

Shaking his head, Scott's surprise had yet to wear off when the young Argent had literally returned from the dead. Yes, she hadn't been dead long. But still, her heart had stopped. By all accounts, she should have died permanently. Except she didn't.

Which, in a very clear way, meant that Derek had been right.

Adrianna Argent wasn't human.

Just as Scott began to consider what it was that she could be, if not a normal girl and not a werewolf, his ears pricked at the elevation in Adrianna's heartrate. Not only was it faster, but it was louder, too—it's tone modulating, almost as though she had more than one heart, only that was impossible.

Concentrating, the young beta focused his hearing outwards only for a cold sense of dread to settle into his gut as he heard, not one, not two, but three steady heartbeats followed by the loud, disruptive shattering of glass and slamming of furniture next door.

In an instant, Scott was scrambling for the door. Somehow, despite his inexperience using his enhanced senses, Scott could tell that one of the heartbeats belonged to his mother.

Swinging open the door rather roughly, not caring when it banged into the wall, likely to have dented the plaster, Scott was greeted by a scene he'd feared for as long as he could remember; for as long as the hunters were a threat to him and the people he loved.

His room was trashed. Broken splinters of wood littering the ground along with glass shards he knew he'd have to be careful to avoid walking over with his bare feet. But that wasn't what stole the air from his lungs and settled a thickness at the back of his throat that made it nearly impossible to talk or think.

Like a sledgehammer to the chest, the sight of his mother suspended above the ground, the Kanima's long, deadly tail wound tightly around her throat, caused a spike of protective fear to invigorate Scott's resolve.

Clenching his fists, he prepared to take on the Kanima alone.

Except, with an abrupt start, Scott recalled that he wasn't alone.

“As you can see, Scott,” Gerard spoke languidly, a taunting bite in his voice. “There have been some interesting developments as of late. I think we should catch up.” He suggested as Scott's gaze drifted over to his bed where Adrianna's furious green eyes glared back at him.

Her hands were tied together with metal cuffs, the skin on her wrists already blistered and red from her efforts to escape, along with dark black veins which stood out in comparison to the pale skin on her arms. As Scott looked between her and Gerard, he realized that the only thing keeping her from doing exactly as Scott had previously planned to do himself, was the shiny pistol aimed at her head.

“Come on, Scott,” Gerard mockingly urged, one hand unclasping from where it had been holding onto Adrianna's wrists, a mad glint shining in his eyes as Scott grudgingly relaxed his fists. “Let's be realistic about who's got the upper hand here.”

As Gerard let go and took a few steps back, the dark veins faded from Adrianna's arms along with the rosy colour in her cheeks. She looked gaunt and tired, her shoulders sagging slightly, and Scott was struck by the sudden realization that she looked worse for wear than she had when she'd died.

“Let them go.” He bravely demanded, a bitter edge to his voice he was unfamiliar with, rising to the surface. “Both of them.”

Scott felt Adrianna's heated glare on his face—although it was not nearly as menacing as it usually was with a bruise already darkening around her left eye and still scarred temple. Even so, Scott refused the slight urge to succumb to the temptation of holding his gaze in her direction for too long. His eyes quickly flickered back to Gerard, silently challenging him.

“I can't do that.” The older man tutted his lips together, almost in disappointment. “But let them live? That's up to you.”

Sighing through his nose, Scott felt the anger in his gut subsiding, being replaced by dread and a slow, sickly hatred for the lead hunter that threatened to turn his insides putrid.

“What do you want?” He all but growled.

The smile on Gerard's lips was more of an insult than it was out of amusement. “I want to talk.” He said with false innocence. “You haven't been answering your phone.”

“Let them go, and we can talk about whatever you want.” Scott shot back, not yet ready to play into the old man's trap. Overhead, the Kanima hissed impatiently, it's grip tightening over Melissa's throat.

Narrowing his wrinkled eyelids, Gerard rose his brows in distaste. “I want the same thing that I have always wanted.” He admitted, skipping over Scott's attempts to negotiate. “I want Derek and his pack.”

Lifting his hands up by his sides incredulously, Scott took a careful step forward. “You have them all in hiding.” He pointed out, his voice rising despite his resolve to refrain from violence. “How am I supposed to know where they are?”

“I think with the proper motivation, you could draw them out.” Gerard countered. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Adrianna picking at her cuffs with a small hair pin. “And if you hadn't noticed, I now have a fairly impressive means by which I can motivate people.”

Scott thought about distracting Gerard, but it seemed that the job was already done for him. The puzzled, slightly anxious expression on Scott's face must have increased the older man's urge to gloat.

“Why do you think I'm able to control him?” He questioned, gaze training up to meet the Kanima's as it hissed, it's reptilian eyes blinking the vertical slits of it's lids. “Oh, you know the myth, Scott. The Kanima is a weapon of vengeance.”

Grappling for something to say, Scott latched onto the first thing his mind could properly understand. “This is about Kate?” He asked dumbly, but the question did it's job.

Fire burned in Gerard's greyish orbs as his spare fist clenched mid-air and shook angrily. “I didn't just come here to bury my daughter.” He purposefully stated, each word holding a sense of finality. “I came to avenge her.”

If it hadn't been for the echoing click that Scott's ears easily detected, he wouldn't have known that Adrianna had finally managed to disentangle herself from her bonds, she was that stealthy.

But apparently, he was the only one that didn't notice.

Loud and heart-stuttering, the ear-splitting bang of the gun nearly shattered Scott's eardrums as Gerard lazily pulled on the trigger, shooting his own granddaughter as casually as one would change the channel on a TV remote.

For a second, Scott thought that the bullet had misfired. His gaze automatically traveled to Adrianna's forehead, where the gun had been aimed, only to find clean, unbroken skin dappled with sweat and dried blood.

A slight smile broke across his face. No matter how mean and nasty Adrianna had been to him, he didn't want to see her brain matter splattered across his bedspread. The nightmares alone would haunt him for weeks.

In his moment of distraction, Gerard retreated out of the room, slinking into the shadows of the hallway beyond as though he'd materialized from them in the first place. The Kanima followed soon after, carelessly dropping Scott's mother to the floor as it hissed at them all before scuttling across the ceiling, after it's new master.

Taking one last hurried look at Adrianna, Scott rushed to Melissa's side, pressing a hand to her back as she remained kneeling on the floor, catching her breath. “Are you okay?” He couldn't help asking, cringing even as the words left his lips.

No, she most certainly wasn't okay. He could see that for himself.

Shaking her head, his mother took a moment to sit back and regard Scott. None of the usual warmth was present in her gaze as she answered him. “Oh, I don't know what's happening. I don't know what that thing was, or even what you are, but whatever he wants,” She told him, drilling a hole through his heart as her voice cracked with emotion. “Just give it to him.”

“Mom,” He reluctantly disputed, hesitantly removing his hand from her back as his mother shakily rose to her feet. “It's not that easy.”

“Do what he wants.” Melissa brokenly repeated, her hands reaching out to squeeze Scott's shoulders, only to think better of it, retracting moments before coming into contact with his skin. “Just give him what he wants.” His mother pleaded, tears shining in her eyes.

Adrianna spoke up for the first time that night, her voice raspy from disuse, or perhaps a residual side effect from Derek's choke-hold over her. “I don't know if he can.”

The words rung throughout the room as Scott contemplated them. He narrowed his eyes on the distinct hand prints bruised around her throat. It wasn't just the injuries pitching her voice strangely and quickening her heart, Scott realized as the small amount of colour she'd regained after the strange connection Isaac had initiated to bring her back to life, drained from her visage.

She wasn't just injured, or scared, or recovering from the wounds still splitting across her skin. She was bleeding, again, this time from her leg. And abruptly, Scott realized that Gerard's bullet hadn't misfired at all. It had hit it's mark.

He'd never intended to kill her, why would he? All along, Gerard had wanted to wound her. For what reason, Scott didn't know. In his opinion, she was already hurt enough as it was.

As Adrianna's forehead pinched in sudden comprehension, her stare sliding down to the ripped hole in her jeans, blood already dripping onto Scott's cream carpet, she reacted in a way that Scott had realized only she could pull off without sounding totally ridiculous.

“Well,” Adrianna commented snidely, the slight tremble in her voice the only indication of her pain and fear. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Melissa's fingers hurt from hours of scrubbing them beneath the piping hot water of her kitchen sink. Even still, the blood remained lodged beneath her fingernails.

Now, Melissa had never been one to be squeamish of blood. It was just blood, anyways. There was nothing special about it aside from the fact that every person needed it to survive.

But this blood, Adrianna's blood, was different.

Pitch black and gooey, almost like tar, the viscous substance clinging with determination to the underside of her nails reminded her of the hours of work she'd just finished completing to save the young girl's life.

Shutting off the tap, Melissa hastily dried her tingling hands on a tea towel. They trembled within the fabric and she angrily threw it aside when it became clear that her hands couldn't get any drier.

Migrating to the kitchen table—which was still strewn with medical supplies ranging from sutures and gauze, to forceps and a bloodied pair of gloves—Melissa took a moment to sit down and breathe, trying to assimilate the strange world she'd been thrown into so suddenly.

Digging into the pocket of her nurse scrubs, which she still hadn't found the time to change out of, Melissa retrieved her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts until she came upon a familiar number.

Her fingers paused on the keys. Plenty of things had happened since the last time she'd spoken with her ex-husband. But somehow, Melissa found that the longer the blank text blinked before her, the fewer words she could string together.

She had nothing to say to the man that had walked out of her and Scott's life nearly ten years ago. Besides, what could she say? That their son had turned into some kind of wolf-man and a lizard creature was killing people in Beacon Hills... _Please come and help?_

No, she had to do this without him. Just like she'd been doing everything else in her life. One step at a time.

But then, her eyes darted over to her fingernails and the black rims still present beneath, and she remembered the shaky surgery she'd undertaken to save Adrianna's life. There had been so much blood and Melissa couldn't help noticing the scars that dotted her body from older wounds that hadn't had the luxury of proper, professional treatment.

She couldn't imagine what the sixteen-year-old had been through. And even if she could, Melissa didn't think she wanted to.

Without her permission, the shaking in her digits had amplified, so much so that the small, electronic device resting comfortably in her palms clattered to the floor. It seemed to signal the end of Melissa's short-lived bravery.

Tears once more collected in her eyes as she stared down at the phone, not caring that her floors had probably been dented, and relished in the curtain of privacy her frizzy curls allowed her as they fell in front of her anguished expression.

She sniffled pathetically, reaching up to wipe at her nose and resolving to pick the cell phone up and stash it somewhere she wouldn't be tempted to use it, when she noticed that she wasn't alone any more.

Directly in front of her, standing on two feet with one hand outstretched, the phone dangling precariously from two fingers—almost as though the device was radioactive to her—Adrianna offered the cell phone to her with a grim smile carved onto her chapped lips.

“Here,” The young woman gestured for Melissa to accept the phone from her pincer-like grip. “You dropped this.”

Hastily wiping under her eyes, no doubt further smearing her mascara and making herself look even more frightening, Melissa gratefully took the phone from the other girl's hand.

“Thank you.” She muttered quietly, taking a moment to straighten out her emotions before continuing. “Shouldn't you be resting? I don't want those stitches pulling out.” Melissa lightly reprimanded her, having to tilt her head upwards to meet Adrianna's gaze.

She smiled, this time without any of the bitter realness, and let out a tiny puff of air that might have been meant as a laugh. “I appreciate the concern,” Adrianna told her, carefully pulling out a chair and using the table to help herself sit down. “But I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.” She shared, resting her elbows on the edge of the table so that she leaned forward, her entire attention devoted to Melissa.

Clearing her throat from the uncomfortable tightness that had developed there, Melissa plastered on her best impression of confusion. “Me?” She wondered, her voice shrill. “Why would you be worried about me? I'm fine.” But even to her own ears, the words sounded false.

Tilting her head to the side, almost like the way Melissa had seen curious predators doing, Adrianna's eyes shone with understanding as she easily saw through the badly constructed wall Melissa had put in place to block her emotions.

“No, you're not.” Adrianna finally replied after a long moment of thoughtful silence, holding up her index finger as Melissa parted her lips to disagree. “I can tell you're freaking out. Believe me, I've been there before.” She raised her brows, permitting Melissa to speak.

If she hadn't been so focused on the fact that she actually was freaking out, Melissa might have felt degraded to be treated in such a way by someone a fraction of her age. But then, there was a maturity in Adrianna that had always surprised Melissa.

“How do you kids manage?” She found herself truthfully wondering, instead of lying, like she'd been tempted to do for the briefest moment. “How do you get up every morning, and pretend like everything's okay? Like there aren't real monsters out there, ready to kill you.”

Adrianna's chest seemed to constrict as she exhaled. There was sadness in her eyes as she shook her head. “Do I really look like I'm managing?” She tightly replied, a twinge of sarcasm in her tone. “Because I'm not. A moment ago, I was dying. An hour ago, I was dead. I'm not managing. I'm not even surviving.”

The words bounced inside Melissa's skull. Even though she understood what Adrianna had told her, it was as though a part of her refused to accept it. Like there was a buffer between the truth of the world around her, and the fantasy life she'd been living in for over forty years.

“What?” She clenched her eyes shut and then opened them again, wide and disbelieving. “You were dead—you died?”

This time, the laugh that slipped past Adrianna's lips was equal parts amused and resigned. She avoided Melissa's eyes as one of her hands dug into the back pocket of her jeans, searching for something.

“I've been a lot of things over the years.” Adrianna revealed as her fingers slowly uncurled from around the item she'd taken out of her pocket. “A murderer. A weapon. A daughter, granddaughter, niece, cousin. But I never had the chance to be a child.”

In the light breaking through the blinds covering the large bay window in front of the kitchen table, Melissa caught a clear glimpse of what it was that Adrianna was holding.

It was made of silver metal, molded into an elongated cylinder with a pointed tip at the end. Melissa recalled the seal etched into the base of the bullet with clarity that astounded her. She'd been the one to pull the projectile out of Adrianna's flesh.

Melissa didn't think she'd ever forget what it looked like.

“You know, despite everything you think you might understand. Despite what seems obvious to you.” Adrianna continued, pressing the bullet into her palm as though the chill of the metal somehow soothed her nerves. “Scott isn't a monster. He's a good kid. He's just trying to fight for what's right. You can't blame him for that.”

But, deep down in her heart, Melissa knew that she already had. “You don't understand,” She said unevenly, the sheer weight of the conversation crackling in her vocal chords. “It's not the claws or the teeth—the eyes and the hair. I don't care what he looks like.” Melissa spread her fingers wide, trying to find the words to express herself.

“He's just, not the boy I raised. He's not my baby—not the kid I couldn't stand to ground and who had to tote around an inhaler just to breathe properly.” She was nearly bawling now, tears tracing paths across her cheeks. “He's not Scott anymore, when he's that... _thing.”_ It sounded stupid, flimsy, even from her perspective.

Thankfully, Adrianna seemed to understand. She glanced between the bullet in her palm and Melissa's teary gaze before hesitantly placing the crafted silver ammunition on the table top.

“You're afraid of him.” She easily discovered and Melissa seriously considered if the girl's earlier words held some truth. Maybe she had been in Melissa's position before. “Afraid of what you don't understand. The wolf—it's not human—but that doesn't mean that Scott's not still in there.”

“Think of it like two different parts of him.” Adrianna demonstrated, drawing one hand under the table before delicately placing a pistol she'd retrieved from a holster Melissa hadn't noticed strapped to her uninjured leg, beside the bullet. “The wolf is savage, it's an animal—raw power—and it's only goal is to ensure it's own survival.”

“Then there's Scott.” In a series of quick, concise movements, Adrianna pulled an empty clip from within the pistol and held it in her right hand, picking up the stray bullet in her left. “He's everything you know him to be. He's still your son; still the boy you raised. The selfless, caring, compassionate boy who makes a lot of dumb mistakes but always ends up picking the right side.”

Melissa couldn't help but let out a watery smile. It certainly sounded like Adrianna had gotten to know Scott. Her description matched him perfectly. Memories of Scott's childhood, his clumsy first steps, to the day he'd gone to school and met his best friend, Stiles Stilinski, flashed across Melissa's mind. Was it true? Could Scott still be in there, despite the monster she'd seen him become?

“And both of these things—the animal and the man—exist in the same space, together.” Adrianna effortlessly slotted the bullet inside the empty cartridge, as though demonstrating her words to Melissa. “Right now, Scott's fighting the wolf with everything he has in him. He's afraid of what will happen if he lets up for even a moment. Scott doesn't trust that side of him— _at all_.”

Something warm and reassuring fluttered to life in Melissa's heart at the knowledge that her son was doing everything he could to stay normal; to remain human. But at the back of her mind, she knew that her son being at war with himself wasn't something to be happy about.

“But eventually, he's going to have to face reality.” Adrianna tightened and then loosened her hold over the clip in her palm, reaching out to grab the heavy, ominous pistol with her spare hand. “The wolf is a part of him. It's there and it's never going away. You can't fight something that's literally grafted to your being, forever.”

“What happens then?” Melissa hesitantly asked, less afraid of the answer and more frightened by the prospect of losing her son, than she'd thought she would be. “What happens when he can't fight it anymore? What then?”

A smile that was far too cruel for the moment twisted across Adrianna's lips as she loudly slid the cartridge inside the pistol, cocking the gun and holding it steadily in her hands, aimed directly at Melissa.

“That's when he'll realize his full potential.” Adrianna made it sound as though the very thing had happened to her once before, bitterness spiked in her voice, defensive and impossible to approach as she set down the gun heavily. “That's when he'll find out who he really is, deep down. Good or bad. Murderer or savior.... Wolf or man.”

Melissa wondered who Adrianna had found herself to be and whether she'd been happy with the answer. She wanted to ask her which side she'd chosen, or if she'd even made up her mind, but by that time the girl had already smiled sweetly—fake and closed off—brushing her fingers over the cold metal of the gun, and walked away.

Adrianna's retreating footsteps echoed in Melissa's mind, as did her words. She knew she'd treated Scott badly after finding out about his transformation, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd betrayed her somehow, by not telling her sooner.

 _I'm still his mother, after all._ Melissa reasoned.

Which meant, Melissa realized with a start, that he was still her son. No matter who or what he became.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His stare was focused on Adrianna despite the obvious pain his patient was in. A cream colored mini-poodle at the end of it's battle with a deadly disease, whining and shivering each time he or Scott tried to touch it. The longer he stared, Deaton supposed, the more frustrated the young huntress would become.

But try as he might, he couldn't pull his gaze away.

It wasn't that she looked different, appearance wise. She still wore the same scuffed leather jacket that had once belonged to her mother. The same laced combat boots, tight, darkly washed jeans, along with the customary holsters attached to her belt hanging loosely near her back. Deaton suspected she was armed with more than the two daggers, but he didn't feel the need to question her about it.

Because he couldn't get over what _was_ different about her.

Dark bruises, nearly black in colour, stained the skin at the base of her neck in two wide hand-prints. They showed no sign of healing so it was Deaton's guess that they had either been created recently—too recently to have begun healing—or Adrianna's body was no longer capable of healing itself.

Unfortunately, Deaton realized as he pressed his lips together, scanning over the shallow cut to the side of her neck and the pained winces Adrianna couldn't stop from releasing each time she inhaled, hinting towards broken or fractured ribs, the latter was most likely to be true.

He had wanted to ask her, since the moment she had walked into his clinic, trailing behind Scott looking very uncertain and lost, what had happened. But doing so now, Deaton knew, would mean revealing at least part of Adrianna's condition to the otherwise oblivious werewolf which was her ally.

And he knew that doing that, would be simply unforgivable in Adrianna's eyes.

“Would you mind seeing who that is?” He questioned Scott as the distant ringing of a bell told him that someone had entered the clinic. Deaton hoped it wasn't Derek or Gerard. Neither would help him in his efforts to learn the truth of what had happened at the station, particularly in reference to the quiet huntress appearing much younger than she'd ever allowed herself to seem, before that.

Nodding his head in affirmation, Scott set down a culture Deaton had had him studying, calmly making his way towards the door which lead out of the back room, toward the front entrance.

As soon as Scott was out of earshot, Adrianna's gaze snapped upwards, taut and wide-eyed. She knew he wanted to talk, that much was certain. “I'm fine.” She stubbornly insisted as Deaton permitted his eyes to peruse her slumped form. “Really, nothing's wrong. I'm fine.”

“Fine?” Deaton tested the word on his tongue. He's used it before, many times, so he could easily distinguish how misplaced it was in reference to Adrianna's physical and mental state. “So is that including the contusions and lacerations, the broken bones and the fact that the temperature in this room has just dropped a good ten degrees, or in spite of all that?”

If it was possible, Adrianna's shoulders slumped even further. Her verdant colored eyes, although downcast toward the floor, seemed to wildly search for an excuse he would fall for. Her lips parted but then shut. It seemed even she, a practiced liar, could not find one.

He heard two sets of footsteps, both heavy and consistent, and Deaton knew his time alone with Adrianna was drawing to a close. “All you have to do is ask for it.” He supplied, staring at her meaningfully so that when she looked up, surprise bringing unprecedented youth and innocence to her features, she would know exactly what he meant.

Still, she asked him for clarification, her expression cautiously neutral as the words tumbled past her lips. “Ask for what?”

“Help.”

Adrianna sat back, stunned. Her hands, which had been hanging idly by her sides, moved to grip onto her knees. Her breathing picked up, despite the damaged ribs Deaton hoped to fix but knew Adrianna would never allow the opportunity to arise, and for a moment, there was nothing shielding her thoughts from him.

And then Scott walked back into the room followed closely by a rather sheepish Isaac Lahey, and the conversation ended quite suddenly, the walls slamming back into place as she sat with her spine rigidly straight.

Turning toward the others, Deaton felt a soft smile pull across his lips, replacing the concerned frown he'd allowed to reside there only a moment before. Observing Isaac's awkward, jittery movements as the werewolf surveyed the back room, Deaton took it upon himself to calm the boy's nerves. 

“It's okay, Isaac.” He cautiously reassured. “We're open.” Deaton gestured for the young man to come forward and watch as Scott injected a mild sedative into the dog's neck.

It yelped rather loudly, startling Adrianna in her chair and drawing the room's attention over to her. Deaton didn't think he'd ever seen her that tense. Normally, Isaac's presence brought out a flirtatious, very Kate-like side in her. Apparently, she was in far worse condition than she'd let on, merely turning her head aside and waiting until the other's stares drifted away, instead of growling out an insult.

“Why does it smell like that?” Isaac's hesitant voice filled the room, louder than a shout. Out of the corner of his eye, Deaton could see Adrianna's hands shaking in her lap, water pooling in her eyes, making the orbs appear shiny and dark.

Despite his best intentions Deaton allowed a small, amused smile, followed by a short laugh to slide across his features and shatter the tense air between himself and the two werewolves.

Isaac's brow furrowed as he glanced around himself, almost as though wondering if it were truly him that Deaton was laughing at. “What?” The young teen asked uncertainly. Much like Adrianna, the battle and each of the events afterwards, had drained away Isaac's cocky bravado.

Deaton couldn't say he missed it.

“Scott said almost the same thing to me a few months ago.” He shared, careful to steer the conversation well clear of his silent observations. “One day he could somehow tell the difference between which animals were getting better and which were not.”

The words seemed to lie heavily on Isaac's shoulder as the truth settled in. “He's not getting better, is he?” The boy spoke out loud, his question nearly rhetorical. “Like cancer.”

“Osteosarcoma.” Adrianna's light voice filtered through his ears as she sat forward to watch. “He's got three weeks left.”

“How?” Isaac began to question, disbelief and something like admiration clinging to his voice.

“It has a very distinct scent, doesn't it?” Deaton hastily interrupted, wary of what excessive questions focused on her true heritage might do to Adrianna's fragile state of mind. “Come here.” He beckoned Isaac once he'd regained the boy's attention. “I know you're well aware of what your new abilities can do for you. Improved strength, speed, and healing. But have you ever wondered what it could do for others?” He asked the beta.

And for some reason, Isaac's stare instantly drifted back to Adrianna. Unlike the other times, Adrianna did not look away. There seemed to be a connection between the two, Deaton could not deny it. He feared what would happen if war broke out. Love was not something that often flourished in the harshest of times.

It would only serve to weaken them both, should they find themselves on opposite sides.

But even so, Deaton couldn't find it in himself to discourage them. Both had lost much in their short lives thus far. How much, Deaton could only guess, but he knew it was more than they should have been able to bare.

“Give me your hand.” Deaton requested. His words only garnering a succession of short glances in his direction, followed by Isaac's warm, sticky palm in his own. “Go on.” Deaton encouraged as he carefully placed the boy's hand over top of the trembling dog.

There was trepidation in the young man's eyes as he stared between Deaton and Scott, then over to Adrianna. Deaton hadn't realized, but the dark circles encompassing the bottom half of Isaac's eyelids was darker than usual, almost as though he hadn't slept well in weeks. He briefly considered whether Adrianna's injuries and Isaac's fatigued state were entwined, but quickly set the notion aside.

Adrianna and Isaac, though they were not on hostile terms, were not—to his knowledge—what one could label as friends. There would be no reason for either to help the other.

Yet, Adrianna's next encouraging words seemed to shake that knowledge. “He's trying to teach you.” She stood on wobbly feet but Deaton didn't move to help her, neither did Scott or Isaac. Clearly they knew her well enough to have become accustomed with her stubborn resolve to remain independent.

“Just, let go.” Her breathing was shallow and controlled. Pain edged her voice. Even so, she managed to walk up to Isaac's side, her pale white hand enveloping his and directing it into the dog's soft fur. “Don't think, do.” She urged him, an intensity blazing in her stare that Deaton had not seen in her before then.

Isaac inhaled shakily, then exhaled. His fingers curled in the dog's long, curly coat as he absorbed Adrianna's words of advice. Isaac stared at Adrianna just as unabashedly as she did to him. His lips formed over her last words and he closed his eyes, the fingers on his spare hand clenching into a fist and then relaxing.

Deaton watched as black veins lifted to the surface on Isaac's left hand, the agony that the mini-poodle was feeling slowly trickling away. Eyes flashing open with lightning speed, it took the boy barely a second to pull away from the pain infiltrating his body from all angles.

“What did I do?” Isaac croaked, the experience rattling him as much as it amazed him. His right hand reached up to wipe under his moistened eyes. Adrianna had yet to let go of Isaac's wrist. Her fingertips whitened, almost as though he was a life-line to her, before loosening their hold.

Smiling, unaware of the spark that had been lit between Adrianna and Isaac, Scott readily shared his knowledge. “You took some of his pain away.”

“Only a little bit.” Deaton hastily corrected, his mind greedily absorbing the small clues he was able to garner from the long, drawn out silence that stretched on as Adrianna's grip slackened, only for Isaac's to strengthen. “But sometimes, it's the small thing that make the biggest difference.”

And he wasn't just talking about the dog anymore.

“It's okay.” Scott spoke up as Isaac smiled with his teeth, wide and overwhelmed, but happy. Perhaps happier than he'd been in a long time. “First time he showed me, I cried too.”

He remembered that day quite clearly. Isaac's reaction, though similar, was not the same. There had been something else causing the tears, the emotion within him. Deaton cautiously watched as the huntress and the werewolf thread their fingers together, not daring to meet each other's gazes as they did so.

Deaton was about to give up watching, resuming his fruitless tests on the dog which had already been diagnosed by individuals who could do so better than any human, when he saw it.

It started on the top of Adrianna's hand, spreading slowly up her arm. Blackish purple veins, engorged and pulsing in much the same way Isaac's had only a moment before, leeching away the strength in shiny, nearly iridescent waves from the werewolf by her side, forcing his eyes to glow yellow for a split second.

But just as Deaton had convinced himself to speak up, the effect stopped abruptly. He felt his brow furrowing as Isaac's hand squeezed Adrianna's before letting go. They shared a meaningful look which reset whatever assumption Deaton had thought would be safe to make about them.

Because, Deaton understood with shocked clarity, Adrianna had not stolen away Isaac's energy and strength. He'd given it to her, willingly. Which meant that there was more going on beneath the surface than Deaton had ever realized.

**#-#-#-#-#**

They'd walked out on him. Just like that. All it had taken was a bit of desperation and a couple of howls, which probably didn't even belong to real werewolves at all, and his young and stupid betas had taken off.

Erica and Boyd were gone.

Derek had tried to warn them. He'd told them the techniques the Argents had used against him and his family for decades. How other packs could modulate their howls to sound larger, when they were really just the stragglers; perhaps even two lone omegas banded together to find a pack.

But they hadn't listened.

Hope had blinded them. Turned them dumb, deaf, and reckless.

And there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

Behind him, the floorboards in his old, burned out home, squeaked. The hairs on the back of Derek's neck stood on end. A scent so familiar to him, he'd wished never to come into contact with it again, invaded his nostrils.

Without another thought, Derek firmly grasped the first weapon he could find—which happened to be a shard of one of the mirrors Lydia had placed around the home in order to bring back his psychotic uncle from the dead—and used the momentum of his body as he turned around, to throw the projectile in the direction from which the noise had come from.

“I expected a slightly warmer welcome.” Peter Hale calmly began, the shard of glass held centimeters away from his face, firmly held between his index finger and thumb. “But point taken.” The older man admitted.

Anger seemed to froth in Derek's stomach, burning away whatever thin semblance of composure he'd managed to maintain in front of his betas and leaving behind only his bare instincts.

Right then, his instincts were telling him to tear Peter apart, limb from limb.

“It's quite a situation you've got yourself in here, Derek.” His uncle pointed out, allowing the shard to clatter to the floor as he paced the room, thoughtful. “I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks and suddenly there's lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, Kate has a daughter, and you're cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town.”

As always, Peter's rambling only served to increase the rage scorching Derek's veins. “What do you want?” He rasped through tightly clenched teeth.

“Well, I want to help.” Peter continued suavely, like he was closing a business deal, and not chatting up his killer. “You're my nephew. The only relative that I have left.”

A chord struck in Derek's mind. There was a reason he and Peter were the only Hales left, besides Kate and the fire that had killed the majority of their family. He'd killed Laura. All for the selfish, ultimately temporary power of being the alpha.

“You know, there's still a lot that I can teach you.” Peter's honey-silk voice reminded him. Grating over each of the damaged nerves Derek had tried so hard to hide. “Can we just talk?” His uncle wondered, smiling tentatively as Derek's expression remained stormy.

Derek thought about all the mistakes he'd made; the futures he'd cost his betas, the lives he'd failed to save as the Kanima went about it's murdering spree, unchallenged, and the dangerous decisions he'd made impulsively which had quite possibly ruined everything.

His hands flexed by his sides, remembering how it had felt to wrap them around Adrianna's neck. Now, nothing but guilt and diffidence rose to the surface.

Derek was not the man his mother would have wanted him to be. He was not the Alpha his pack needed him to be. And most importantly, he was not the leader that Beacon Hills deserved.

He couldn't stop Gerard and capture the Kanima all at once. He couldn't even keep his pack from falling apart.

“Sure,” Derek found himself saying, all the various feelings of incompetence stewing within him until the only things he could feel were hatred and rage directed at the first thing he could latch onto... “Let's talk.”

Which happened to be Peter Hale.

His fists curled, the knuckles popping from the effort, and his heart beat steadily as he allowed his eyes to glow ruby red. When Derek was angry, he was in control. And right now, control was all that he lacked.

Peter realized a moment too late, what it was that he was doing.

As his blood, his family, his tormentor, and his sister's murderer flew through the air, colliding heavily with the wall across from the stairs leading up, crumbling plaster and spraying chips and splinters of wood throughout the house, Derek realized that what he was doing was morally wrong; that attacking Peter made him no better than the man himself.

He just didn't care.

**#-#-#-#-#**

She curled and uncurled the fingers of her left hand into a fist, again and again. Still, the strange tingling in the digits would not diminish. Adrianna figured that it had something to do with the strength Isaac had lent her only a few minutes before.

But it had nothing to do with the fluttering in her stomach, the clenching of her heart, and the disquiet in her mind. That had happened all on it's own. Or so she'd unavailing tried to convince herself.

“Erica and Boyd are leaving tonight,” Isaac informed Scott. “During the game.” He added afterwards, and the rich timbers of his voice forced a shiver up her spine.

Scratching at his hairline, Scott's confusion was loud and obvious in the way he pressed his lips together and then licked them uncertainly. “So, why are you telling me?” He replied slowly, each word loud and disruptive in the fragile atmosphere that had descended over the three teenagers.

“I'm not telling you. I'm asking you.” Isaac sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I'm asking for your advice.”

Adrianna barely resisted the urge to swat away Isaac's hand and comb his hair herself. The thought scared her, so she tucked her palms beneath her thighs, just in case the appendages decided to betray her.

“From me?” Scott incredulously rephrased, his brows nearly disappearing from his forehead, he raised them so high. “Why?”

“Because I trust you.” The boy lifted his head to meet eyes with Scott and then Adrianna. “Both of you.” He amended, the topaz tint of his irises reflecting all of the fear and hesitation she felt, back into Adrianna like a shattered mirror.

Scott asked the question posed on the tip of her tongue, for her. “Why?”

Isaac's gaze tore away from her. The moment it did, Adrianna felt as though a black hole had opened up inside her. She felt nothing but hollow emptiness. It was more terrifying than anything she'd ever felt before.

“Because you always seem to want to do the right thing.” Isaac explained, rubbing the back of his neck in what might have been embarrassment. Adrianna couldn't tell because, suddenly, it was as if the walls were closing in on her, choking what little life remained in her fragile body.

“I usually have no idea what I'm doing.” Scott revealed humorously, but the self-deprecating curl of his lips spoke volumes of how honest he was being. Of how much the truth bothered him. “Actually, I always have no idea what I'm doing.” 

Isaac hummed thoughtfully, sitting back in the chair. The distance between them, though marginal, might as well have been an entire ocean. Adrianna wondered what was wrong with her, because there had to be something. She'd never experienced the sensation before.

“Do you want to let me know what you're doing right now?” Isaac continued the conversation, his tone casual, although there was an underlying note of severity. The answer was important to him, Adrianna realized.

She felt the sudden urge to spill her guts to him. To tell him everything.

Adrianna had to bite her lip until she tasted blood to prevent herself from doing so.

“I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you mean.” Scott replied, being much more ambiguous than Adrianna thought she could have managed. “I have too many people here who need me.”

Isaac's chin dropped down. “Well, I guess that makes me lucky 'cause, uh—” He struggled to say, becoming anxious the closer he got to finishing his sentence. “'Cause I don't have anyone, so.” He looked away, his voice lowering at least an octave.

Pity flooded Adrianna's system. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. The words, _'You have me'_ , flashed across her mind. Adrianna shuddered at the thought of using them. Since when had she become so desperate, so pathetic?

Instead, she cleared her throat, keeping a firm grasp over her riotous feelings, and placed a hesitant hand over Isaac's hunched shoulder. “You're not alone in this, Isaac.” She told him, even as her face grew hot with a blush and a static jolt seemed to course through her veins. “You still have your pack. They're your family now.”

And the desire to touch Isaac's hair was so overwhelming, that she couldn't contain herself any longer. Slowly, so slowly that each second felt like an eternity, Adrianna reached up to Isaac's collar, her wrist lying across the nape of his neck, and allowed her fingers to barely—just barely—brush across the tips of his curled hair.

For a moment, Isaac held his breath, his shoulders going stiff from the effort. But then, his body uncoiled and he leaned into her touch. That in itself was far more disturbing than any of the other unrealized emotions she hardly managed to keep in check, beneath the surface.

Because Adrianna knew that if she were to let go, to really abandon all of her rules and to forget about the ideals her family had ingrained in her since childhood of standing on her own against the entire world, Isaac would probably accept her with open arms.

“Are you gonna go with them?” Scott cautiously broached. His eyes darted between her and Isaac. Even he could see that something was different.

Pulling her arm back, Adrianna avoided both of their gazes dutifully as Isaac stood up and shook his head, ostensibly trying to find a way to intelligently answer Scott's question.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who'd lost control of her senses as Isaac mumbled his first word. “Yah,” He hurriedly supplied, licking his lips before continuing more evenly. “Yeah, I think I will. Good luck with the game though.”

“Well, thanks,” Scott muttered, dejected. “But I'm not—I'm not going either.” He stuttered, obviously upset. “I can't even think about playing some meaningless game right now.”

Adrianna couldn't say she blamed him. The distance between her and Isaac had seemed to clear her head, at least marginally. Her thoughts drifted over to her school work. She was tremendously behind. For the first time in her life, Adrianna dreaded the inevitable failing grade she'd receive in each of her subjects.

Isaac tilted his head to the side, his feet firmly planted in the ground, all thoughts of leaving vanquished from his expression. “You weren't at practice last week, were you?” He asked, confused by something that had escaped both her and Scott entirely.

“No, I skipped it.” Scott answered. “Why?”

A flicker of what might have been fear fizzled in Isaac's eyes. “Then you didn't hear?” He rapidly uttered, urgency in his voice.

“Hear what?” Adrianna couldn't stop herself from asking.

In the handful of heartbeats before his response, Adrianna's imagination took flight with the different kinds of fantastical horrors that might transpire. She expected to be disappointed when Isaac's statement hit her, but it appeared that she would never be that lucky.

“Jackson was there.” He told them, and Adrianna's heart instantly plummeted to her feet. Emotions she'd bottled up since childhood threatened to expand within her and consume all that was left.

She didn't know what she felt for Isaac, but whatever it was, what she felt for Jackson was nearly as strong—if not stronger.

“What do you mean, 'there'?” Scott demanded, his pitch rising with concern. “Like, he was—”

“As if nothing had happened.” Isaac agreed, finishing off Scott's sentence for him.

A shadow of doubt crossed over Scott's face. “Really?” He wondered once more before conviction set his jaw in stone. “That means—the game tonight?”

“Yeah,” Isaac affirmed, a grim tilt to his words. “He's playing.”

Adrianna released a string of Latin curses so foul, even Kate—the woman who'd taught most of them to her in the first place—would have washed her mouth out in soap before agreeing with her.

“This is bad,” She surmised, the doom she'd felt slowly beginning to abate the longer she focused on a plan to save Jackson's life. “This is really bad.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Despite the leather, high heel boots she'd worn in anticipation of the early spring chill forecasted for that night, Lydia found that the cement walkway beneath her leeched the warmth straight out of her toes, leaving her feeling as though she were floating on pins and needles.

She knew all she would have to do to resuscitate the digits would be to move them, restoring blood flow and allowing the nerves to calm in their rather painful complaints. But the boots were too tight and the heels were too tall.

Lydia feared she'd toppled over if she even tried to twitch her big toe.

Of course, the trembling in her knees wasn't helping any. But she chose to keep that small detail to herself as the approaching footsteps of the lacrosse team began to echo through the tunnel she was in.

They were on their way to the field. Soon, the game would begin and she'd have to make sure to cheer her loudest and smile her widest, or else people might start to catch onto the fear that was knocking the wind out of her lungs and making her head feel fuzzy and clear at the same time.

Just as promised, the rhythmic stomping became louder, picking up speed as the team came closer. Lydia backed into the wall, not wanting to be trampled as the first line of players ran past, whooping excitedly and lifting their lacrosse sticks in the air.

She waited until most of them had left, draining out onto the field and taking up their positions. All the while, her calculating stare perused the crowd of teenage boys, looking for one name and one number on the back of a Beacon Hills jersey.

Eventually, Lydia found what she was looking for.

“Jackson!” She called out to the boy wearing the number 37 on his back, _Whittemore_ scrawled in bold at the top of his jersey. “Jackson, wait!”

Her voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears, but Lydia didn't have time to think about her public image. Scrambling to catch up with the jogging boys, she nearly tripped over the masses of cleated feet and loosely swinging sticks before she reached Jackson.

Using her sharp elbows, Lydia sighed out in relief as she stood beside her ex-boyfriend. “Jackson.” Lydia repeated, only slightly quieter as she dutifully followed after him. She couldn't hear herself think over the pulsing sound of footsteps and hollers. “Jackson, wait up.”

But he didn't stop. There was a determined glint in his eyes, almost akin to madness. Tugging on his sleeve impatiently, sweaty bodies jostling her every which way, Lydia's patience began to fray.

“Jackson, what's wrong with you?” She tripped over her own feet, having to lean heavily onto Jackson's arm in order to avoid falling over. “It's me. It's Lydia.” She insisted, roughly pulling his sleeve and digging her heels into the floor as she tried her hardest to halt Jackson's catatonic marching.

Lydia had never been strong. She'd always been pretty. And she'd always mysteriously passed her courses with flying colors.

Those were things that were never supposed to change.

But as she took a deep breath, her temper finally snapping after everything she'd been through, Lydia found that nothing was as simple as she'd thought it was.

“Jackson!” She yelled, finding strength from a place she'd never been able to reach and nearly knocking the boy off his feet as she pushed him into the wall. Only, Lydia could have sworn she never felt her hands come into contact with Jackson's body.

For a moment, he didn't seem to notice. Simply standing still against the wall, staring off into space. But then, one of his hands reached out to wrap around her wrist. The grip was tight, painfully so, and Lydia couldn't help wincing as Jackson's fingers tightened even further.

“Ow,” She complained, trying to pull away. “Jackson, you're hurting me.”

Lydia could feel the other boy's stares burning the back of her head, but she stubbornly refused to turn or ask for their help. They could say all they wanted about her. Everyone already thought she was crazy. What was there left to add? Freak?

She'd convinced herself a long time ago that she could overcome anything thrown her way. But the one thing she couldn't handle, was Jackson ignoring her. No matter what had happened between them, no matter what was real, she simply couldn't live with his apathy towards her forever.

“Stop it,” Lydia cried out, her voice turning desperate the longer her wrist remained tightly shackled in Jackson's meaty palm. “Let go, it hurts!”

And, as he slowly blinked his eyes, the fog clearing ever so slightly, it seemed he couldn't, either.

“Lydia?” He asked, brows pinched in confusion, as though he hadn't had an inkling of the trouble she'd gone through to gain his attention. “Lydia, what are you doing here?”

She didn't answer. Although the words had been running over and over again in her head, they didn't seem to matter anymore. Her wrist burned as Jackson's grip refused to slacken. Lydia glanced down at it, drawing Jackson's gaze with her.

“Oh my god,” He started, his fingers immediately releasing her. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—I never wanted to hurt you.” Jackson apologized, his tone darkening ever so slightly.

Lydia shook her wrist out by her side, attempting to rid herself of the ghost-like sensation of his fingers squeezing harder and harder. “I'm here to watch the game.” She brushed over his regret, lightly tracing her other hand under her eyes, clearing them of unshed tears. “To watch you play.” She clarified, her chin raised defiantly.

“No,” Jackson replied, his expression pinching. “You can't be here. You don't understand. It's not safe.”

His hands extended to take hold of her shoulders as he began to steer her away. They were the only two left in the tunnel. “Not safe?” Lydia repeated, a sliver of cold fear stabbing her heart. “What do you mean? It's the championship game. Everyone's here.”

But Jackson wasn't listening to her anymore. As he continued to push her towards the entrance to the boy's locker rooms, away from the field, he muttered concernedly under his breath, “You're not safe. You have to stay in the school.”

She only had a moment to be confused before her anger took over. “No, Jackson.” Lydia refuted, swatting away his hands as she stood with her shoulders squared. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Rage sparked in his blue eyes. He snarled, lips curling upwards, and for a split second, Lydia worried that he was going to hit her. A small part of her, the part she'd tried to lock away for good, reminded her that he wasn't human—not anymore.

“You just—you don't get it. You never understand!” Jackson roared, the words strained and painful. He pulled at his hair like he could somehow convince her of his sincerity by damaging his scalp. “You can come and see me play any other night. Just not tonight. _Please._ ” He begged her.

A cold, heavy pit of concern sank in Lydia's stomach. Jackson had never begged her; not for anything. She considered his words and whether they held some truth to them.

What she found, she didn't like.

“What's so special about this game, Jackson?” Lydia asked him, her tone losing almost all of it's defensive grit. “Why are you so scared that something will happen to me? What do you know?”

He seemed to struggle with himself, waging a silent war that Lydia desperately wanted to fight for him. But she also knew that he had to fight his own battles. Both of them did.

“I don't know anything, okay?” He finally settled on saying, his tone as mocking as ever. “It's just a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Lydia considered, her tone disbelieving. “Do you expect me to follow your every command when you lie to my face on a regular basis? How am I supposed to trust you?” 

Jackson shut his eyes, staring up at the overhead ceiling to collect himself before he replied. Lydia tapped her foot on the floor, impatiently waiting for his response.

“I—I can't tell you the truth, Lydia.” He mournfully said, and it was probably the first honest thing that had come out of his mouth in a very long time. “You have to trust me. I just want what's best for you and if you go out there tonight, I can't guarantee your safety.” He pointed behind him, toward the lacrosse field bustling with noise and activity. There were only a few minutes before the game began.

Lydia swallowed thickly, heat searing the backs of her eyelids as she held back her tears. “You couldn't guarantee my safety the night of the winter formal.” She pointed out shakily. Her hip began to ache as her mind went back to the night Peter Hale had bitten her.

After that, nothing had been the same.

Jackson stepped back, as though the mere mentioning of that night—of his failure to keep her safe—physically pained him. Lydia regretted bringing it up for only a moment. Then she steadied her resolve and pressed her lips together firmly.

“That was different.” Jackson quietly disagreed, his eyes refusing to lift up and meet Lydia's level gaze.

“How was it different?” Lydia pressed, the months of betrayal and lies building up until all of it threatened to come pouring out of her. “Last I checked, werewolves and hunters still exist, both sides are still fighting a losing battle against each other, and you're still stuck in the middle.”

She breathed deeply, her tirade leaving her short on oxygen. “Yeah, I know about all of it.” Lydia smiled sweetly, her tolerance for lies finally having reached it's end. “Everything that everyone has tried to hide from me. I know.”

Jackson's shoulders sagged, almost as though his strength had left him, before he rubbed at his forehead. In the distance, Lydia could hear someone calling his name. “Who told you?” He questioned, a sense of finality weighing his words.

Lydia couldn't help feeling satisfied as the name slipped past her glossy lips, loaded and ready to inflict maximum damage. “Peter Hale.”

Other than his rapid inhale and the widening of his pupils, Jackson's surprise was hardly note worthy. Lydia had the sudden craving to hurt him, as he'd hurt her—as everyone had hurt her, by lying for so long.

“While you were busy keeping secrets from me, I was fighting him off.” Lydia circled Jackson, her cruelty getting the better of her. “I was caught in my worst nightmare, helplessly enslaved to the whims of a madman, while you were enjoying your new-found power and abilities.”

“You blamed me for your problems, so you'll forgive me if I blame you for mine.” She goaded, hoping he'd rise to the bait. Memories of the day he'd accused her of passing her immunity onto him—immunity to a werewolf bite—flooded her thoughts and sharpened her tongue. “And you'll forgive me, if I don't take you're warnings seriously.”

She turned to leave him where he stood, but his hand on her arm stopped her. Lydia turned her body to the side so she could glare at him heatedly. “I'm sorry.” Jackson told her, and the words left her speechless. “I'm sorry about lying to you, about not being there when you needed me. It's my fault. I should have taken better care of you.”

His grip wasn't painful, it was loose. Jackson's thumb slid across her bicep. The gesture raised goosebumps on Lydia's arms. “I'm here now, though. And I'm going to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again.” He promised, the words ringing like music in Lydia's ears. “You mean the world to me. I—I care about you. Please, listen to me. Don't go out there. Go home, where you'll be safe.”

And Lydia wanted to do just that, she wanted to listen to him. She wanted to please him, to make him happy because he was her world, too. In her heart, she knew she loved him. Admitting he cared was as close as Jackson could get to saying the very same thing.

But, as the coach charged down the tunnel, screaming and complaining that Jackson was holding up the game and that Beacon Hills would lose without him, Lydia's heart hardened into iron.

“You know, I'm glad you said that I mean the world to you,” Lydia began soothingly, her resolve cracking for a moment as a rare smile stole Jackson's lips away. “Because for a moment, I thought I was just—how did you put it?” She asked, her tone turning acrid.

“Oh yes, now I remember.” Lydia laughed savagely as she effortlessly pulled away from Jackson. “Dead weight.”

As Lydia turned her back on him, her strides long and purposeful, she missed the devastation that painted Jackson's visage and pooled in his eyes. She also missed the way his emotions shut down as the Kanima took control, his free will helplessly enslaved to the whims of a madman.

To the whims of Gerard Argent.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The forest was dark and the night air was bitter, far colder than it should have been in mid-march, but even so, Allison managed to relish each moment. She sat straddling the ATV, one leather combat boot hanging freely on each side of the metal monster which growled and screamed each time she pressed down on the accelerator.

Strapped to the front of the vehicle, a large megaphone resonated with each pre-recorded howl that shattered the silent evening. Her bow was slung across her shoulder, resting comfortably against her back, and the knives in her boots reminded her of her mission.

Derek Hale would be sorry tonight.

He'd beg for mercy. Mercy that Allison wouldn't grant him.

Suddenly, the recording shut off, allowing Allison a moment of silent thought. She didn't know what Gerard was going to do to Derek's betas once she and her father caught them, but Allison found that it didn't matter much, so long as it meant they found Derek.

As she rolled the ATV over the top of a hill, her father holding out a closed fist in front of her, signaling for her to stop by his side, Allison surveyed the dark forest beneath them with barely withheld disdain.

“Play it again.” Her father commanded her, his scrutinizing gaze unreadable to her, even from such a close distance. She did as he asked, choosing not to test him any further. They hadn't spoken since he'd saved her from the Kanima. Allison didn't think she'd know what to say, even if she'd had the opportunity to talk.

Loud and disruptive, clearly meant to draw attention towards it, the recorded howls rung in Allison's ears even after the track had finished playing. They stayed for a moment in the same place before her father revved his engine and continued on.

“Is there even a pattern to any of this,” Allison complained, her newfound blood-lust reaching it's peak. “Or are you just guessing?”

Chris' gaze was narrowed as he looked back at her over his shoulder. Allison nearly shivered. There was none of the usual loving fondness in his eyes. Just dark reproach. He hated her. Hated what she'd become.

“Yes, there's a pattern.” He tiredly informed her, the aged lines of his face seemingly etched deeper than Allison remembered them being. “And if you'd just keep quiet and watch me, instead of complaining, you might actually learn what that pattern is.”

He had a point. Allison hated that he had a point. She crossed her arms in front of herself for a moment, acting more petulantly than she'd ever allowed herself to, before nodding her head.

“Alright,” She agreed stiffly. “Just as long as we catch the runaways and find a way back to Derek.”

Her father seemed to want to argue with her, but chose not to at the last minute, turning his head away and taking his ATV into a particularly steep stretch of woods.

Allison knew she wasn't experienced enough using the equipment to successfully scale down the same hill. And yet, her stubbornness reared it's ugly head within her, and she followed after him anyway. Slipping and sliding, nearly toppling back wheels over front before reaching the bottom, Allison bit back a smile as the ATV screeched at the base of the hill, intact, for the most part.

She glanced over at her father, a cocky grin stretching her lips, but found that his expression held nothing but distaste and disappointment. It made her sick to her stomach so she turned her gaze elsewhere.

To the far left, moonlight slipped through the overhead canopy. Allison thought that there must have been some kind of clearing in that direction. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind reminded her of the many times she and Scott had spent daydreaming at Lookout Point.

Allison forcefully stopped her train of thought before it could get too far. It was then that she realized there was no wind swaying the overhead boughs of the tall redwood trees which made up much of the Beacon Hills preserve.

Forgetting her resolve, Allison's head whipped towards her father, surprise and excitement shining in her eyes. She didn't have to use words as her father nodded his head, lifting a finger to his lips for silence.

His eyes no longer held that strange emotion, reminding her of the way he'd always looked at her. The way he apparently still could.

Quietly, not daring to press the accelerator any further than she needed to, Allison followed her father's lead in turning themselves around so that they faced the direction where she'd thought there might be a clearing.

Tense and jittery, Allison's arms shuddered where they strained to hold onto the ATV's handlebars. She wanted to run, to pull her bow off her back and shoot at the creatures that had stolen her mother away from her, but she didn't dare move as her father remained where he was, as immobile as one of the trees.

And then, her father flicked on the flood lamp of his ATV—Allison's clumsy, frozen fingers haltingly rushing to do the same—and the shadows were swept in light. At first, Allison couldn't see much, but a moment later, as she blinked rapidly to adjust her vision, she could make out the distinctive shape of two large objects crouched behind a fallen log.

Two pairs of glowing, amber eyes stared back at her through the thick foliage.

They belonged to two people she knew. Kids her age who'd, at one point or other, been her study partners in school. But now, as one of them bared their teeth to reveal a mouth filled with sharp, pointed fangs, they were nothing more than rabid beasts to be hunted down.

Allison's instincts allowed her to gun the engine a microsecond before her father did. It gave her an advantage, straight off, against both her prey and her mentor.

Chunks of dirt and moss sprayed behind her, kicked up by the thick tire treads of the outdoor terrain vehicle. Allison narrowed her eyes and paid the strong gust of wind blowing directly into her face little mind.

She had one purpose, in that moment, and it was to complete the mission Gerard had set out for her. To capture the two rogue werewolves. Names and ages didn't matter to her anymore. Species was the only deciding factor. Human, or not.

Chris struggled to match the pace Allison had set, cornering the werewolves on the opposite side, forcing them into the clearing. Unfortunately, the trees were less dense in that area, allowing for thick underbrush and fallen debris to tangle in the ATV's wheels.

Allison didn't hesitate as she brought the vehicle to a stop, roughly pulling off her dark black helmet. She dismounted with ease, pulling her bow off of her shoulder and nocking an arrow from her brand new quiver across the string.

“Come on! Run!” She heard them yelling to each other, fear propelling them straight into a trap, towards the clearing. “Run! Run!”

She followed them at a brisk trot, holding her bow level with her body, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. “Allison, wait!” Her father called out behind her, but it was already too late.

Plowing through the underbrush, Allison felt her blood pressure spike as she caught her first clear glimpse of the night's prey. They were dressed darkly, perhaps in anticipation of their attempted escape, and the fear so prominently displayed on their features, though it should have disturbed Allison, only brought to life the hunter that had been awakened upon her mother's death.

Lifting the bow up to her shoulder, pulling back on the string so that the edge of the nock pin just touched her lips, Allison released her first arrow straight into Erica's thigh.

The beta struggled to keep running, to follow behind the larger male, but another solid hit to the same leg was enough to prevent any further movement. “No!” Erica yelled as she fell to the ground clutching at the bloody arrow shaft, glancing behind her at Boyd. “No, no, run. Go!” She shook her head, repeating the warning.. “Go!”

Allison grinned at the display of affection and concern between the two werewolves. She nearly laughed as Boyd stalked past Erica. They cared for each other, maybe they were even in love. It would make them weak.

Reaching back into her fully-stocked quiver, Allison produced another arrow, holding it at the ready as Boyd steadily approached, his stare thunderous as he snarled.

Her eyes narrowed in a challenge, head tilting to the side as she wondered whether Boyd would attack her to defend Erica, or save his own skin and run away.

Claws extending by his sides, eyes shining bright yellow, filled with anger, Boyd continued to move forward, picking up speed until he was practically charging her.

Allison made her decision a moment later.

The arrow flew through the air and hit it's mark with a dull thud on impact.

Boyd stood very still, staring at the metal rod embedded in his chest, before returning his focus to Allison with renewed rage.

Before he could attack again, Allison reloaded her bow and shot him again and again until the giant was forced to his knees.

“Stop!” Erica's scream was blood-curdling. “Please, Allison, stop.” The young wolf begged, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched Boyd grunt with each new volley of arrows sent his way.

Like a well-oiled machine, Allison continued to pull arrows from out of her quiver, nocking them and then releasing them into the massive beta who'd dared to challenge her. Who had thought that he could defeat her.

Allison was too far lost inside her mind to notice or care about the atrocity of her actions. Each new arrow felt like retribution, justice. It felt like she was avenging her mother's death.

The screams didn't stop her, nor did the sobbing wails or the loss of blood.

She didn't stop when her arm grew tired, or when the sorrow in her heart seemed to drown her. Her father's voice was garbled and unclear. His words didn't matter any more than the beta's lives.

Allison only stopped shooting when she'd run out of arrows.

She supposed it made her a monster, but anything was better than a victim.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The air was heavy with distrust and fear, lights not quite illuminating into the deepest, darkest shadows, and even the cheering voices of the pathetic lacrosse fans weren't as loud as they should have been.

All in all, it was the perfect time for Gerard to enact his flawless plan.

He felt a twinge in his chest, as though the muscle hidden behind his rib-cage had begun to revive, and Gerard couldn't help a deep sigh as he recognized that the distress flooding his system was not his own. It belonged to the Kanima.

Clenching his fists tightly, Gerard rolled his shoulders back, testing out the strength he'd taken away from his granddaughter. Snippets of her emotions, her violent, rebellious tendencies, threatened to break free of the metaphorical box he'd quickly shoved them in.

If he hadn't had as much practice with it as he had, by now, Gerard was certain he'd be overwhelmed.

But he did have practice; lots of it.

He'd been stealing away strength from Adrianna for a very long time now, nearly as long as she'd been in Beacon Hills, and so he easily controlled the flare of uncertainty that bubbled in his gut.

He'd needed her strength to capture the Kanima in the first place, and he'd need her again to keep that control. Which meant the subtlest aspect of his plan would be the most pivotal. He could trust no one with it but himself.

As the whistle blew, sharp and clear across the field, Gerard focused all his mental strength on quelling the Kanima's remorse. Soon enough, it's presence felt like nothing more than blind obedience and loyalty.

“Scott, can you hear me?” He tested, speaking just loud enough that his words could not be eavesdropped upon by the people standing next to him on the sidelines, but that a werewolf across the field could pick up on them easily, if they were listening. “Ah, you can. Good.” Gerard exclaimed as he saw Scott's chin turn to the right until the boy stared directly at him.

“Listen closely because the game is about to get interesting.” He informed the young man, turning his attention over to the bright, neon scoreboard hanging from a tall metal trellis. “Let's put a real clock on this game, Scott. I'll give you until the last thirty seconds.”

“When that scoreboard clock begins counting down from thirty,” Gerard explained patiently, his stare fixed on the angered set of Scott's jaw and the tightness of his posture. “If you haven't given me Derek, then Jackson is going to kill someone.”

Out on the field, among the mass of fumbling players running or coordinating among themselves, Jackson stood out, absolutely still as his head rolled to the side, slitted eyes blinking as he screeched inhumanely.

“So, tell me, Scott, who's going die tonight?” He conversationally went on, beginning to pace as adrenaline fused with his blood. “Should it be your mother, who so bravely came out to support you? Or the sheriff, your best friend's father? Or the pretty little redhead who managed to survive the bite of an Alpha?”

Scanning the crowd for more victims, Gerard's eyes caught on someone he hadn't expected to see at the game. Pushing through the sea of bodies, making her way towards Scott only to sit down on the bench next to him, was his own granddaughter, Adrianna.

For a moment, he was at a loss for words as Adrianna leaned in close to Scott, her gaze set directly on Gerard as she whispered something into the werewolf's ear. “Or maybe one of these innocent teenagers with their whole life ahead of them?” He found the will to continue, even as shock tingled in his veins. “Or should I do everyone a favor and kill that ridiculous coach?”

She was far worse for wear than he'd thought she'd be. Gerard supposed he should have expected it, he had been draining her life force and poisoning her with wolf'sbane for nearly three whole months. And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the similarities his gaunt, nearly lifeless granddaughter would share with her mother.

With Kate.

His daughter.

The only one that had ever mattered to him for the precise reason that he couldn't control her.

Scott's socially awkward friend, Stiles, leaned into the conversation gesticulating wildly as he turned his head, fast enough to cause whiplash, in Gerard's direction. Although the boy did have intelligence, he was sorely lacking in the art of subtlety.

“It's up to you, Scott.” He let his previous threats sink in for a moment before turning up the heat. Adrianna had made her choice. Now, he'd have to force her hand. She had brought it down on herself.

“But you are going to help me take Derek down,” Gerard carefully pronounced. “Because if you don't, I'll have Jackson rip someone's head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood.”

The ultimatum hung in the air, which only grew heavier as the clock ticked closer and closer to the deadline he'd set. Now this was a game he'd like to watch; a game to be remembered for years to come.

Beacon Hill's championship tournament: Derek Hale and Scott McCall facing off against the Argents, the werewolves against the hunters, humans fighting beasts.

And it was sure to be bloody.

Cracking his knuckles, Gerard grinned menacingly.

He couldn't wait.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His best friend was playing. Stiles Stilinski, who'd been a member of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team for over five years without once having been given the opportunity to step onto the field, was actually playing—in a championship game nonetheless.

And he sucked.

Badly.

“Sit down, McCall.” The coach ordered gruffly. Scott hadn't even noticed when he'd stood up from the bench. It must have been some time after Stiles blew one of the easiest catches ever.

“But, coach,” Scott complained, his adrenaline levels still dangerously high after Gerard's deadline had been set. “We're dying out there.”

His mind went back to what Gerard had said in the locker room. _'Get out there and murder them.'_ He'd doubted that anyone other than Jackson would take that seriously, but now he wasn't so sure.

“Oh, I'm aware of that.” Finstock sarcastically retorted, his hair looking even worse than it usually did. “Now sit.”

Despite the nervous quivering of his muscles demanding to be used, to do something, Scott did as the coach asked. He didn't think it would be wise to cross the man now, especially not when he'd seen the coach break into his secret stash of spiked Gatorade in the last half hour.

Bobby Finstock was a dangerous man when his sugar levels soared as high as they were now.

Pressing a hand to his sticky forehead, Scott sighed heavily. Defeat was already weighing down his bones, making him feel like the whole world was resting on his shoulders.

“It's alright.” Adrianna consoled, her lips drawn into a thin line, making her appear older than she really was. Or perhaps it was just the strange sheen coating her skin. “The game doesn't matter. All we have to do is bench Jackson. From there, I can keep an eye on him.”

And by 'keep an eye on him', Scott knew she meant inflict bodily harm so as to incapacitate Jackson and prevent him from literally ripping someone's head off. What kind of bodily harm, she hadn't specified in great detail. In fact, she hadn't cleared up anything in her plan since the moment she'd whispered it into his ear and he'd had to try and share his attention between her and Gerard to catch every detail.

He wasn't even sure he could remember what the plan actually was or what he was supposed to do.

“Are you sure you're up for it?” Scott couldn't help wondering, although he immediately regretted saying so when Adrianna's calm stare began to burn the side of his face.

But then, instead of lashing out at him, like he'd expected her to, Adrianna simply shrugged, loosening her posture so that she hunched on the bench next to him. “I don't know.” She muttered, her voice as sincere and honest as he'd ever heard it.

Someone slid onto the bench between them and it took Scott a moment to realize who it was. “You came to help.” He hopefully stated as Isaac smiled back at him, baggy lacrosse jersey slung over his tall frame.

“I came to win.” Isaac corrected, some of the confidence he'd gained from Derek's bite having returned to his voice. There was no trace of the lonely, despair ridden teen they'd seen at the animal clinic.

He felt a burst of energy fill him up and solidify his resolve. Leaning forward, Scott beamed over at Adrianna and she managed to return the favor, though her eyes were set on Isaac.

“You know,” She started, a new lightness present in her tone. “I could just kiss you right now.”

Scott could easily bet that Isaac's reaction was just as surprised as his. For a moment, no one said a word as the distance between Isaac and Adrianna seemed to be much closer than it had a second before. Then Adrianna nervously patted Isaac's shoulder, straining a small laugh.

“Not that I'm going to.” She stuttered to say, her cheeks flushing light pink. It was the most colour he'd seen on her since before the attack with the Kanima.

Clearing his throat, there was a prideful twinkle in Isaac's gaze as he brushed over the topic. “So, uh,” He began inelegantly. “You got a plan yet?”

“No,” Scott rapidly shot back at the same time as Adrianna answered with a 'yes'.

Confused, the two glanced at each other over Isaac. “Yes.” Adrianna repeated again, more forcefully, just as Scott replied with a hesitant 'no'.

“Um, okay?” Isaac thoughtfully considered, trading his gaze between Adrianna and Scott. “Which one is it?”

Narrowing her eyes on him with deadly intent, Scott decided he'd allow Adrianna to explain. He didn't want to take his chances interrupting or contradicting her again.

Adrianna sighed before scratching at her hairline nervously. “Yes, we have a plan.” She shared, avoiding both of their focused stares. “I suggested that if we can somehow get Jackson out of the game and onto the bench, I could make sure he doesn't hurt anyone.”

“But that's not gonna work.” Scott spoke up, choosing to share his opinion now that there was room for input. “Jackson's one of our best players. There's no way coach will bench him in the championship game.” He pointed out.

The huntress mulled over his words, clamping her hands tightly around the edge of the bench as she nodded her head, seemingly in agreement. “Okay, so maybe you're right.” She struggled to admit, a harshness present in the way her jaw stuck out, as though she wasn't used to being wrong and then facing up to it. “What's your idea?” Adrianna deflected, her verdant orbs landing expectantly on him.

Scott staggered back on the seat before he sheepishly realized that he had no idea. “Well,” He racked his brain for anything that could be considered a plan, even a course of action, but found that only one thing stuck out in his mind. “Right now the most important thing is keeping Jackson from killing anyone.”

And even though it was obvious and just a little bit dumb, Scott felt better than he had in ages for contributing to the plan. Maybe he could make it, all on his own. Maybe Derek had been right. Maybe he had what it took to be his own alpha.

“That might be easier if you're actually in the game.” Isaac reminded him, clearly buying into whatever vague notion Scott had lain down. “We have to make it so coach has no choice but to play you.”

“How do we do that?” Scott forced down the anguished moan he felt rising in his chest. He had to be strong. People's lives were at stake. “He's got a bench full of guys he can use before he ever puts me on the field.”

“I can do it.” Adrianna's voice startled him. He forgot how she could disappear without even leaving his side. “I'll sneak up behind them. All it'll take is one touch and they won't be able to play for weeks.”

Isaac shook his head adamantly. “No,” The word was clipped, final. There was an undercurrent of emotion Scott recalled feeling himself, whenever Allison was in trouble. “You nearly died today and just because you're out here, barely standing on two feet, doesn't mean that you've recovered enough to take down the ten goons coach has lined up.”

“So what?” Adrianna growled back defensively. “There's no other option. It's either this or we let Gerard murder everyone in this town, starting with Derek and his pack.”

Isaac's fists clenched in his lap but he remained silent as Adrianna turned towards Scott. “I can do it.” She said again, almost to herself. “If I was stronger, I could put them in comas or knock them unconscious. In my condition, I can still manage to daze them. When I'm done with them, they won't know up from down.”

And though the words alone were convincing, all it took was one thorough look at the Argent huntress for Scott to know that she was wrong. Perhaps she hadn't meant to lie, but her pride couldn't allow for her to acknowledge her defeat.

“Okay, good.” Adrianna interpreted his silence as agreement, beginning to push herself off the bench in order to somehow eliminate the remaining players aside from Scott.

“Wait,” Isaac called, his hand snapping forward to enclose around Adrianna's wrist. He held her there, his grip preventing her from leaving. “You don't have to prove that you're strong. Everyone already knows that.”

“I'm not trying to prove anything.” Adrianna argued, pulling on her arm, although Isaac's grip didn't slacken. “I'm just doing what needs to be done.”

“Then stay on the sidelines,” Isaac insisted. “Save your strength for when we will need it. Don't waste it on something anyone else can do.”

“This isn't something anyone else can do.” Her lower lip trembled as she refuted Isaac's statement. Scott wondered why she was even bothering to explain herself to them. Normally she didn't bother with words. “I can do this—I have to do this. It's the only way.”

Both huntress and werewolf stared off, neither willing to submit. Eventually, Isaac licked his lips and loosened his hold over her. “Alright,” He assented, something challenging in his voice. “Prove it.”

Scott had never known Adrianna to back away from a challenge, big or small, and she didn't disappoint, pulling Isaac's arm towards her chest, twisting it so that her arm was wrapped over top.

Blackish veins lifted over the back of her hand, spreading down Isaac's arm. For a moment, Scott thought that Adrianna might have been a werewolf. He'd only ever seen anything remotely similar when he used his powers to siphon pain. But then Adrianna's eyes glowed a purplish colour and black goo started to leak from her nose and tear ducts, and Scott knew Derek had been right all along.

She wasn't human.

She wasn't a werewolf.

Quite frankly, she wasn't natural.

But that didn't mean she wasn't still their ally.

Adrianna stumbled and probably would have fallen if Isaac's other arm hadn't shot out to hold her steady. The corners of her lips rose in embarrassment but her cheeks didn't tint red. Scott wondered if she had enough blood left in her to blush at all.

“Okay, I get it.” She agreed once she was seated, one palm to her forehead. “My powers haven't quite come back yet.” Raising her chin to look at Scott and then Isaac, he saw that there was still a determined spark in her eyes, despite her failure to do to Isaac whatever it was that she normally did. “But if you're gonna go out there, you have to be careful not to play straight into Gerard's hands. He's ten steps ahead of us already. You can't let him catch onto what you're doing until it's already done.” She advised seriously.

Scott followed Adrianna's hand as it migrated from her lap over to Isaac's. She clenched his palm in her own and then released. Scott wondered when they'd become a thing, or if they even knew what that thing was.

“Do you think you can do it without putting anyone in the hospital?” He questioned Isaac, setting aside the strange, twisted relationship he'd been spying on and choosing to direct his focus onto the rapidly forming plan which might actually have a chance at working.

Isaac kept his eyes on Adrianna for one more long moment before tearing away his stare. “I can try.” He told Scott, grabbing hold of his helmet and pulling it over his curly head.

“Lahey! Ramirez!” The coach shouted over, waving for the players in question to march onto the field. “You're in.”

“Isaac!” Adrianna abruptly yelled, her shoulders unfurling as though she wanted to stand up, but couldn't. The number 14 jersey turned as Isaac walked backwards, raising his arms for her to continue despite the coach's chattering protests.

Scott followed her line of sight as she looked between Gerard and Isaac. There was a hardness in their principal's features that betrayed his discomfort knowing that his granddaughter was fighting on the opposite side. Scott didn't think it would be wise to push the eldest Argent's patience any further than it needed to be.

But then, Adrianna hadn't ever adhered to caution.

“Win this thing,” She told Isaac, a flirtatious smile brightening her otherwise pallid features as she dared to defy her grandfather. “And we'll see about that kiss.”

Scott didn't have to see Isaac's expression to know that he was smiling back. The bounce in his step and the beta's elevated heart-rate told Scott everything he needed to know.

Gerard had been playing a game with them all since the start.

Now, it seemed that Adrianna was playing it right back.

He only had a brief moment to consider whether her supposed feeling were genuine, before Isaac rammed into a lacrosse player on his own team.

 _One down, nine more to go,_ Scott counted.

It was going to be a very long night.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Their cries rung in his ears. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake their expressions from his mind. They were just kids and his daughter, his own flesh and blood, had hunted them down like animals.

Chris remembered a time when he would have done the same thing.

He felt disgusting; unclean. Like the blood of a thousand dead werewolves—many of them already having spilled innocent blood, but others still naive to the savage world they lived in—stained his hands, marking him for what he was.

A killer.

“You owe me a new bow.” Allison offhandedly told him, but there was an undercurrent of real anger in her voice. The type of anger that could not be quenched in anything but blood.

Chris restrained himself from screaming until his throat was hoarse. For a moment while they'd been hunting the beta's, he'd thought that Allison—the real Allison—had surfaced. But now, she was gone again. “You owe me an explanation.” He said instead.

“For what?” Allison's eyes narrowed on him. “I caught them.” She reminded him stiffly, arrogance sounding like acid on her tongue. “ _Me._ ”

If he wasn't careful, he'd become her enemy and Gerard would have finished destroying what remained of Chris' life. Already they were drifting further apart than he'd ever thought they could. 

But he couldn't just stand by and remain silent forever, like he had when Gerard had first twisted his daughter's heartbreak into hatred. “'Caught' came very close to kill.” He pointed out, the words catching in his throat as they itched for more power, more conviction. “And that's not the way we do this.”

“Maybe it's not the way you do it.” Allison adjusted the bow hanging over her shoulder, sliding off her empty quiver and stashing it in a compartment on the ATV Gerard had given her. “I think my way worked out pretty well.”

She sounded more and more like Kate with every minute that passed where Chris failed to shine light—the truth—over her warped perceptions. Lifting one leg to mount the off-road vehicle, Chris hastily searched for something to add.

Something that would prove how utterly insane his father was to her.

“Allison,” He began, saliva clinging to his throat and forcing him to swallow roughly. He would have to tell her everything. All the terrible things he'd done in the name of protecting his kind from the wolves. All the terrible things that their entire family had done, throughout the ages.

But before he could even think of the right way to tell her that her grandfather was a psychopathic mass-murderer, Allison had her cell phone out and pressed to her ear.

She held out her hand, palm facing him, as she waited for Gerard to answer. “Hey grandpa, it's me.” Allison chirped into the receiver. “We got our two runaways. Call us back.”

Pushing the phone back into the pocket of her jeans, Allison reached behind her to pull on her black motorcycle helmet before turning towards him, a puzzled wrinkle forming between her brows. “What?” She demanded sourly.

Chris shook his head, trying to clear the shock from his features. Allison didn't respect him anymore. She didn't respect anything. Not the value of life—human or not—or the sacrifice her mother had made. Not even, he suspected, the dying wish Victoria had entrusted him with and written to Allison about in her death note.

“Nothing,” He pathetically excused, bitterness biting at his tongue. “It's just the first time I've heard you call him that.”

If he hadn't known it before, he certainly did now.

Allison was gone. Buried beneath the rubble of a life that had been destroyed after her mother's death.

The only way to get her back, Chris hoped, was to dig her out. And he'd do it. He'd use his bare hands if he had to because Allison was all he had left.

Damn the code.

It was time to follow his heart.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Isaac had never been confident before the bite. He'd been shy and quiet, afraid of sharing his opinion or revealing the secrets his bruises held. Without Derek or any of his pack, Isaac had begun to feel like that helpless kid again, trapped in a steel box and unable to get out.

He'd set it aside to help Scott, but never in a million years had he ever thought that anyone or anything could make it disappear forever.

Adrianna had proved him wrong.

He felt stronger, moved faster, and thought clearer than he ever had. The huntresses' words rung in his ears and for some reason, Isaac felt his pulse rising. There was a bounce in his step as he ran towards another one of Beacon Hill's players—another one of his teammates—and knocked the poor boy to the ground.

“Lahey!” Coach criticized, waving his hands above his head in frustration. “Seriously, what the hell is your problem?” He demanded to know after the eighth player in a row was collected off the field, limping heavily.

Turning in the direction of the coach, Isaac shrugged innocently. Without his permission, his gaze traveled over to the bench where Scott and Adrianna were sitting. His enhanced vision allowed him to see that Adrianna was already looking his way.

Isaac's cheeks hurt from smiling. He didn't think he'd ever been happier in his life. The freedom he'd gained with Derek couldn't compare to this. It hadn't been absolute. There were still rules, expectations; shackles.

But what he felt when he looked at Adrianna, when her skin touched his and he could hear her heart beating in his hears. That was true freedom. He didn't care what it was, whether she felt it or not, or even if it would last.

The moment was his and he wasn't going to waste it.

As the whistle blew once more to announce another play, prickling the insides of his ears, Isaac positioned himself near the back. The coach had allocated him to defensive line. Isaac had other plans.

Digging his cleats into the solid turf beneath his feet, Isaac rushed forward as soon as the ball was off the ground, plowing through someone called Greenberg and barreling over the fallen kid straight into another player.

He'd never taken two out in one try before. Isaac felt pride blossom within him. It made him cocky and reckless as he turned around to find Adrianna's gaze. But unlike all the other times he'd done so, her green eyes weren't crinkled near the edges in joy.

No, this time, they were wide and frightened, conveying a silent warning. He didn't have time to decipher what she was trying to tell him because in the next moment, a force stronger than any other he'd encountered on the field smacked into him from behind.

Distantly, through the ringing in his ears and the pain flaring at the base of his neck, he heard his name being called, followed by a sudden whistle blow. Possibly a penalty, but Isaac couldn't be sure.

He winced on the ground, his hands gripping fistfuls of grass as he attempted to gain control over the agony coursing through his body. Something was definitely fractured, maybe broken. He hoped it wasn't his neck. Isaac didn't know if that would heal, but he didn't want to find out.

Isaac tried to focus on anything that would keep his mind off the pain. Releasing the grass in his fists, Isaac clenched his fingers tightly against the palm of his hands. He felt his nails beginning to grow as he lost control over the wolf inside him. His eyes blurred from the effort of stabbing his nails into the meaty flesh of his hand, but he knew it had to be done.

He couldn't allow their secret to be revealed. Not when so much else was going wrong.

As he shut his eyes, his spine suddenly relaxing as the pain inexplicably began fading away, Isaac felt a presence kneeling down next to him. Hands darted over his chest gently, nearly feather-light in their touch, searching for injuries.

“It's alright, Isaac.” He heard Adrianna's voice soothing him and he couldn't resist opening his eyes. “Aside from your leg, you don't seem to be hurt.”

Although her tone was calm and even, her expression was anything but. The wide, terrified look in her eyes had yet to leave along with the thinning of her lips and the furrow of her brow.

“You know, I didn't win but maybe you could give me that kiss now?” Isaac wondered, grimacing as a new wave of discomfort hit him. It seemed like a legitimate question, but Adrianna laughed disbelievingly.

“Did you hit your head?” She questioned, mirth in her voice as her hands moved up to his forehead. Adrianna used the back of her palm to take his temperature. Her hand was as cold as ice. It was nice against Isaac's feverish skin.

“No,” He began, glancing upwards to see that the EMT's were finally on their way. “I don't think I did.” He reached out his hand to stroke her face, but the appendage wouldn't move.

It was then that he identified the concrete-like thickness weighing down his bones. “Oh no.” He muttered, dread filling his voice.

Scott reached his side, kneeling next to Adrianna as he took his own quick catalog of Isaac's condition. “It's not broken but I can't move it.” He shared, struggling against the panic that wanted to overcome him. “I think Jackson nicked me 'cause I can feel it spreading.”

“You're okay,” Adrianna reminded him, standing back as the medical technicians, stocky middle-aged men who were probably on leave from Eichen House, slid a stretcher beneath Isaac's lead limbs and lifted him off the ground on the count of three. “You did well.”

For a few paces, Adrianna followed him, her hand slipping into his. Isaac noticed the concentrated twist of her brows and took it upon himself to pull away before she could attempt to lend him strength he wouldn't need.

“Don't,” He whispered, catching her hand before it could slip away and holding it delicately. “Save it for later. You'll need it more than I will.” Isaac told her before her fingers slipped through his and he was carried out of sight, inside the school building.

Even through the concrete walls, he could hear her response.

“You're right. I will need it more.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It wasn't the words, so much as her voice that chilled him to the bone.

He'd only ever heard her speak in such a way, once before.

And every word had come true.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The tall, lanky boy with the number 14 on his jersey and the last name of _Lahey_ , collapsed in a heap as number 37 slammed into his turned back. Melissa tensed as their helmets crashed and what sounded like bone splintering echoed throughout the field.

It was safe to say she hated lacrosse. It was far too violent for her tastes.

Why couldn't her son have taken an interest in a safer sport, something like tennis or golf?

But then, Scott had taken an interest in many unsafe activities as of late. Activities she was just coming to learn about, now. Her mind drifted back to the talk she'd had with Adrianna, who was kneeling beside the fallen boy on the field along with her son, motioning with concerned gestures. Suddenly, she didn't feel so justified in being angry with Scott.

Standing up off the metal bleachers, Melissa carefully made her way down the steps onto the field as the boy was carried away on a stretcher, Adrianna trailing behind.

“Hey,” Melissa placed one hesitant hand over her son's shoulder to gain his attention. “Something's happening, isn't it? Something more than a lacrosse game?” She asked, her voice wavering more than she'd have liked.

Dazed, or perhaps lost in his thoughts, Scott looked directly at her but didn't seem to see her until a few moments had gone by. “You should go.” He told her. He sounded older than he was. He sounded like he knew what he was doing, like he was in charge; a leader.

It shook away whatever doubt Melissa still held about her son's true nature. “Oh, I'm not going anywhere.” Her rebuttal seemed to surprise Scott nearly as much as the determination in her gaze. “And everything that I said before, forget it. All of it. Okay?” She pressed, wanting to get her point across.

Scott's expression pinched but he nodded his head in understanding. “If you can do something to help, then you do it.” She instructed him. “You have to.”

It was probably redundant and not very inspiring, maybe even a little hypocritical, but Melissa didn't care. She'd seen a monster in Scott, at first, but the longer she looked, the clearer the truth became to her.

Monsters weren't always the most obvious of people and just because you looked like one, didn't mean that you were one. It certainly wasn't the case with Gerard Argent, the man she could see glaring at Scott over his shoulder.

“I will.” Her son replied, his stare never wavering from hers.

And she believed him.

**#-#-#-#-#**

His nose hurt.

And it wasn't just his nose. His entire body throbbed painfully.

But it was his nose that bothered him the most.

Now, it was crooked.

“You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst.” He lectured his fuming nephew, holding a cracked segment of mirror in his hand as he tried to push his nose back into place. “You weren't ready. Because of it, Gerard is winning.”

Beneath the facade of superiority and nonchalance, Peter was worried for Derek. His nephew had always been unstable and abnormally angry, but this was different.

Derek had beaten him into the ground and even though Peter had let him—not daring to fight back after the debt he had yet to repay to his nephew and the trust he had yet to regain—he had a feeling that it wouldn't have made a difference if he hadn't allowed the cathartic violence to play out.

The outcome would have been the same.

His unfortunate condition was unavoidable.

He just wished Derek hadn't hit his nose so many times.

With a resounding crack, the cartilaginous mass righted itself in the center of his face. “He's taking his time.” Peter informed Derek, carefully wrinkling his nose as he tested how securely it was attached. “He's toying with Scott. He's going after your wolves, one by one. He's relishing in his victory.”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the way Derek's shoulders rose, almost like hackles in a wolf, and he readied himself for the onslaught of anger and possible broken bones. “How about you tell me something I don't know?” His nephew rumbled dangerously.

“Oh, I'm going to.” Peter promised, backing up until he sat down on the charred steps of his old home. It had nothing to do with keeping his back to a wall. He was just tired. His feet hurt and coming back from the dead was harder than he'd thought. “And it's going to prove why you should trust me. Why you need to trust me.”

Derek crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly not liking the way Peter was testing his limits. “Okay, okay.” He conceded, waving one hand in front of himself in dismissal. “I'm going to tell you how to stop Jackson.”

“What do you mean?” His nephew questioned, his interest peaking as he made his way forward peacefully, or as peaceful as Derek Hale could get. “You know how to kill him?” He wondered.

“Actually,” Peter grinned, hardly able to hold back his glee. “How to save him.”

He didn't feel the need to add in the fact that he wasn't entirely sure it would work. Supernatural remedies were messy. Derek knew the risks. At least, Peter hoped he did, for Jackson's sake.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The crowd was cheering, despite the fact that they were several points behind the opposition's score. Stiles could hardly hear them over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

His ears still burned from his constant embarrassment on the field. First it had been his dad, who'd stood up on the bleachers and loudly encouraged Stiles, much to his chagrin. Then, it had been Stiles' absolute inability to catch the ball in his lacrosse stick, or even his struggles to avoid being trampled as Isaac had single-handedly diminished their team to the bare minimum of players.

Stiles didn't even want to ask about that.

He was probably better off not knowing.

And the final nail in the coffin had been when he'd narrowly avoided tripping over his own shoelaces, only to assist a rival player in his confusion, and contribute to the opposition's five point lead.

By that time, Stiles had begun to permit himself to accept defeat. Lacrosse just wasn't the game for him. No matter how much he practiced, how long he'd been on the team, or even the pristine condition of his equipment, Stiles simply wasn't coordinated enough to play and win.

His shoulders hunched forward as he dragged his stick behind him, merely remaining on the field because the coach had yet to tell him to leave. Stiles figured it was out of necessity, there weren't enough players left and even Stiles knew he was better than Greenberg.

And then, the crowd seemed to hold it's breath.

Frowning in confusion, Stiles turned around, searching for the cause of distress, but everything seemed normal. That was until he realized that both lacrosse teams were gathered together in a tackle-like huddle, each trying to gain hold of the ball.

Only, the ball wasn't in the huddle with them.

Somehow, it rolled across the grass, stopping mere inches from Stiles feet.

Now, he understood. His blood seemed to coagulate in his veins and his hands shook as he unthinkingly scooped up the ball in his lacrosse net. A part of him knew he should have been running, possibly towards the other team's goal, but he couldn't move his feet, they were as heavy as lead weights.

As his heartbeats counted the seconds for him, his body shuffled awkwardly, not certain what course of action would be wisest. The decision was made for him when one of the other team's players finally realized there was no ball among the group of players.

“Hey!” The burly, towering giant shouted at him. It was enough to garner many of the other's attention. Stiles only had time to think quite distinctly, _I'm screwed_ , before he turned around and ran for his life, a dozen larger, stronger, faster kids racing behind him.

Stiles heard a high-pitched whining sound as his feet thundered over the grass. He considered that it might have been coming from him as he approached the goal, facing off against the surprised goalie.

He twitched side to side, countering each of the goalie's movements. The lacrosse stick was raised over his head, but he couldn't bring himself to catapult the ball over his head. The statistics of his survival were thinning the longer he stood, doing nothing.

“Stilinski!” The coach screamed at him, desperation making his eyes appear wide and manic. “Shoot it. Shoot the ball! Shoot it, you idiot!” And Stiles briefly wondered how that was supposed to be encouraging.

Stiles could hear the incoming wave of players behind him. They were barely three meters away, and closing. Each of their steps sounded like lightning in his ears and shook like an earthquake up his knees.

But then, he looked out into the crowd, searching for his best friend—for anyone that would lend him the strength and confidence he'd need to make a nearly impossible shot. Well, impossible for him.

“Shoot it!” Lydia Martin's voice pinched in her panic, echoing across the bleachers and into his ears.

She was standing up, bouncing slightly. Stiles shook his head, about to ask himself if he was hallucinating, as he realized that Lydia was cheering...for him.

Without a moment's notice, Stiles vaulted the stick over his shoulder. He watched as the ball soared through the air, hardly daring to hope that it would miraculously evade the goalie and sink into the net.

He didn't hear the swoosh, or the thud as the goalie landed on the ground—unable to stop the projectile—but he did hear the deafening roar as the fans screamed out in joy. Someone started cheering his name, and soon enough, the entire crowd was chanting it.

“I scored a goal?” He asked no one in particular, the adrenaline slowly fading from his racing heart. “I scored a goal!” He understood, pride filling him up and replacing the defeat he'd felt earlier.

“I scored a goal!” Stiles shouted, elated.

He could almost forget about the brutal, bloody, deadly violence that Gerard had promised to unleash, because the impossible had become possible.

Not only had Stiles finally played on the team, instead of sitting on the sidelines, but he'd scored his first goal to tie the championship game.

Maybe he wasn't just some useless human anymore. Maybe he was more capable than he'd thought he was.

And even though he was still one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, he somehow felt like so much more.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Derek's knuckles stung and as he flexed them, some of the joints popping or cracking, he realized that he had no choice but to listen to his uncle's words. It would take at least ten minutes for his hands to heal. After that, he could continue beating Peter to a pulp.

That wasn't the only reason he was bothering to listen. But Derek wasn't sure he was ready to admit how much he still needed his uncle. Without him, he was sure there would never be a way to stop the madness from spreading in Beacon Hills.

At least with Peter close, Derek could make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

“There's a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its Christian name.” Peter told him, his voice as patronizing as ever, if not a little thicker thanks to the broken nose Derek had been only too pleased to give him.

Shaking his head, Derek continued to pace the floor, each scorched board creaking beneath his weight, but not giving way. “It's just a myth.” He resolutely stated. As soon as the words left his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake.

“Sometimes,” Peter began, a self-satisfied smirk twisting his lips. “Myths and legends bear a hint of truth. Our name is a symbol of who we are but the Kanima has no identity. That's why it doesn't seek a pack. ”

Holding back the annoyed roll of his eyes, Derek nodded as he agreed with his uncle. “It seeks a master.” He supplied even as something niggled at him from the back of his mind. Peter was up to something, that much was always certain.

“Yes,” His uncle's voice turned sinister, as though Derek had fallen for a trap he hadn't known was waiting for him. “And sometimes they bear a lot more than just a hint. Sometimes, the ghost stories we're told around campfires and before bed, meant to scare away our wits and snuff out rebellion, are one hundred percent real.”

This time Derek couldn't help himself as his green eyes rolled in their sockets. Releasing a heavy sigh, Derek unwound his arms from in front of his chest and set them firmly on his hips. “What's this really about, Peter?” He roughly demanded, tired of the ultimately flippant evasion his uncle was famous for. “What do you want?”

“Seriously?” Peter placed a dramatic hand over his chest, his expression one of surprised offense. “Derek, we've already been over this. I just want to help; to perform my familial duty in guiding you down the right path. If you haven't noticed, you seem to be in dire need of some guidance.”

Narrowing his eyes, a searing hot sensation bubbling up behind his vision as he was sure the orbs began to glow red with his frustration, Derek forced himself to pull back the wolf, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them once more to find that the heat had diminished.

“Bullshit.” He informed his uncle gruffly. “You came back for a reason. The same reason you're still here, pretending to help me. Face it Peter, you never do anything unless it benefits you.”

“So I'll ask you one more time,” Derek finished as his uncle's gaze conveniently rested on his hands, which were clutched in his lap. “What do you want?”

Peter looked up at him, then, his stare thoughtful—almost as though he was debating telling the truth, for once—before he stood up and positioned himself across from Derek.

“What do I want?” Peter asked himself, stroking the stubble on his chin. “Well, I wanted to live.” He confessed, raising his brows as he considered his words. “But I didn't come back from the dead just for the fun of it, no. It was much more work that I thought it would be.”

Derek waited, as patiently as he was able, for his uncle to spit out the real reason why he wanted to help him, because it certainly hadn't been out of the charity of his heart, as he would have had Derek believe. It took a few more minutes of glowering on his part, to convince Peter that he was on the brink of beating the information out of him, before the older man spoke again.

“I wanted to know if it was real.” Peter lowly admitted, one hand tightening into an emotional fist, rising into the air as his gaze flickered between a rotted floorboard at his feet to Derek's confused eyes. “I had to find out for myself, whether or not the nightmares were true, to gather concrete evidence that Kate's daughter wasn't what I thought she was.”

Derek's forehead creased in a frown. He shook his head slightly, trying to understand what his uncle was saying. He couldn't stop himself from rising to the bait. “What did you think she was?”

The flash of annoyance, followed by disbelief colouring his uncle's expression made Derek feel stupid. He instantly hated it, but quelled the urge to re-break Peter's nose long enough to hear his uncle's next sentence.

“Well, I thought,” He cleared his throat, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck before resuming more fluently. “I thought she was your daughter.”

This time, Derek didn't bother holding himself back as he growled, eyes shining red, and charged Peter. Even though his uncle dug his heels into the floor, reaching up to push back, Derek was stronger now that he was the alpha.

“I'm gonna take that as a no.” Peter groaned as he collided with the far wall.

Derek took one hand away from where he'd secured Peter's shoulders, pulling the arm back to land a punch to his nose. “Wait!” His uncle cried, tensing his features as he expected the blow. “Hold on just a minute, Derek. Let's not do anything rash.”

Derek didn't know why, but his arm stopped mid-way to Peter's face. He let him squirm for a minute before releasing his hold. His dropped a few inches as his feet hit the floor. Peter dusted off his shirt, seemingly not believing his luck, before he cleared his throat and finished explaining himself.

“You don't think I didn't notice what you had going on with Kate, before the fire?” He seemed to try and pose delicately, obviously wary of the prospect of having his nose flattened again. “You can't blame me for jumping to conclusions. Especially not when the alternative is worse than I thought.”

Peter's one weakness, had always been his pride. Derek hadn't been much better, as of late, but he liked to think that it wasn't his Achilles heel. Which was why it hardly came as a surprise to him when Peter delved deeper than he should have, mid-rant.

“What alternative?” Derek snarled, his chest rumbling as he yearned to growl and snap his teeth at the older man. “You know something about her, something important.” He realized as Peter grimaced, his mistake out in the open.

“Alright, yes, I know something.” He raised his hands, trying to assuage the situation. “But so far, it's just an educated guess. Besides, the Argent girl isn't our priority right now— _Jackson is_.”

Derek could have forced his uncle to tell him, right then, but there would be no guarantee that Peter wouldn't just lie. Maybe he was lying right then. Maybe he'd been lying the whole time. And although he hated to admit it, Peter was right. Jackson was the priority.

“The Kanima seeks a master?” Derek reluctantly dropped the subject, his voice carrying every ounce of his exasperation across the room.

Peter grinned. It was almost enough to make Derek reconsider. “And who else grows up with no pack?” His uncle quickly hurtled onward, leaving their unfinished argument miles behind him. “With no identity? No name?”

The answer popped into his mind in an instant. “An orphan.”

Peter nodded his head. “Like Jackson.” He pointed out. “And right now, his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin and you need to bring him back.”

Derek didn't like the implications of his uncle's insight. He didn't like the responsibility which was already starting to curve his bones. “How?” He questioned Peter, no longer caring whether he kept the upper-hand.

Peter had won the moment he'd steered the conversation clear of the information he hadn't wanted to share. Perhaps he'd always had the upper-hand, thanks to the knowledge he'd somehow learned before or after his return from the dead.

“Through his heart.” Peter factually informed him, not being able to resist twisting a final insult as he added, a hint of satisfied snark in his tone, “How else?”

Derek huffed air through his nostrils, amused more than he was angered. “You know, in case you hadn't noticed,” He began, not quite ready to submit totally. “Jackson doesn't really have too much of a heart to begin with.”

He remembered the night that Jackson had come to his home, stood in the very hallway Derek was occupying now, and demanded the bite as compensation for helping them defeat Peter.

Jackson was selfish, arrogant, and immature.

Derek didn't want to think about what that made him, for acquiescing the boy's ridiculous demands, in the hope that it would kill him instead of turning him.

“Not true.” Peter's voice broke through his reverie, snapping him back to the present. “He'd never admit it, but there is one person. One young lady with whom Jackson shared a real bond. One person who can reach him; who can save him.”

The first person matching Peter's description that came to mind locked his spine in place and forced his lungs to work harder, just so he could breathe. He remembered what it felt like to be dragged across the floor he now stood on, his arm cut open as he was used like a tool in Peter's resurrection.

Derek breathed out the name like he was exhaling fire. “Lydia.”

Circling Derek like a hungry wolf, Peter leaned against one of the walls that had remained relatively intact, crossing one ankle over the other casually. “Your best ally has always been anger, Derek, but what you lack most is a heart.” His uncle easily observed. “That's why you've always known that you need Scott more than anyone.”

Impatiently, almost as though he knew how much his words affected Derek, Peter pushed away from the wall, trailing his fingers over the sooty plaster. “And even somebody as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple, yet undeniable power of human love.”

The pessimistic part of Derek refused to be silenced as his nose crinkled distastefully. “What if it doesn't work?” He flatly queried. “What if Lydia can't bring him back?”

“Then you'll have to hope that the myriad collection of teenagers Scott's managed to assemble is enough to stop him.” Peter easily replied, but his tone had lost it's cheerful banter. There was a solemn truth in his eyes.

“Because if they're not, we're in for one hell of a thrashing.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

The game was tied, thanks to Stiles Stilinski, of all people, but that hardly mattered to Adrianna. She wasn't there to watch a stupid lacrosse match, even if it was the championship game. She was there to stop Jackson and her grandfather from killing people. She was there to protect the innocent.

But the job was easier said than done.

Her shoulders ached, both of them, from where she'd been shot by Gerard and Matt—Matt who she knew for certain was dead, even without seeing his body. Each time she breathed, the agony in her rib-cage became a little harder to deal with, a little more difficult to conceal.

Adrianna wondered why she even bothered.

She knew she looked bad, really bad. She'd been avoiding mirrors like the plague, but that hadn't stopped her from catching glimpses of herself every now and then. Quite honestly, corpses had more life in them than she did, at the moment.

The concerned glances Scott kept sending her direction hadn't helped any. In fact, they were beginning to make her feel lightheaded. Or maybe that was because of the bright spotlights stationed over the field, blazing with an intensity that forced Adrianna to squint at least twice a minute.

And to top it all off, there was a roiling uncertainty in her stomach that told her someone was going to die. She had a suspicion it would be her.

“Where is he?” Scott abruptly voiced as he panted, not having yet recovered from his time on the lacrosse field. He'd been benched again, for what reason, Adrianna didn't remember. She couldn't remember a lot of things, actually.

There was a dimness in her mind that was starting to frighten her. Like a black hole, slowly expanding within her, eating away her consciousness.

Adrianna blinked forcefully, willing her mind to cooperate as she licked her dry, chapped lips. “Huh?” She asked Scott, as she realized that his question had completely flown over her head. “What did you say?”

Scott stared at her strangely, more sickly sweet concern clinging to his visage as he frowned. “Gerard,” He carefully repeated, as though talking to a child. “He's gone.”

A wave of fear plowed into Adrianna, nearly knocking her off her feet. If Gerard had left, he'd done so for a reason. She fumbled to recall her training, to understand why her heart suddenly felt heavier than normal and her throat seemed to constrict on itself, but try as she might, the answer eluded her.

“Okay, um.” Adrianna stalled, trying her hardest to string together a coherent thought. “Did you see where he went? Was there anyone with him?” A migraine split the base of her skull and she couldn't hold back a pained gasp.

“Are you alright?” Scott asked her, reaching out to steady her balance as she tipped forward, nearly falling over. She felt about as strong as a leaf in a gust of wind, ready to blow away at a moment's notice.

Even so, she pushed Scott away and straightened her shoulders. “I'm fine.” Adrianna nearly spat the word. “Now answer the question.”

Scott appeared taken-aback by her reaction, but complied to her request. “There were two guys with him. Big, tall; they were wearing black.” Turning, Scott pointed over his shoulder. “I'm not sure, but it looked like they were going toward the school.”

“Toward the school,” Adrianna repeated for her own benefit. There was inexplicable rust coating her thoughts. “How many guys did you say there were?”

This time, Scott didn't react to her obvious confusion. He had his head tilted in the direction he'd told her Gerard had gone. It reminded Adrianna of how she'd seen hunting dogs listen for their prey.

“Isaac.” He suddenly exclaimed, worry coating his voice. “They're going after Isaac.”

Despite her weakness, the name managed to drill some sense back into Adrianna as she tore off her jacket, her skin becoming clammy from sweat. “You stay here,” She instructed Scott, the urgency of the situation demanding that she set aside her pain. “I'll help Isaac.”

But instead of agreeing, like she thought he would, Scott shook his head. “Are you sure about that?” He asked her. “Maybe I should go.”

She was nearly certain that he hadn't meant to insult her, but the sting of betrayal and doubt that followed his words was inevitable. Adrianna took a step back, as though she could somehow avoid the assault by moving away from Scott.

“We don't have time to debate this.” She grunted, tightening her belt and pulling the leather scabbards holding her knives away from her back so that they rested comfortably on her hips.

“You were right before. I'm not strong enough.” Adrianna conceded, interrupting Scott before he could think to get a word in. “Which is why you have to stay here in case the Kanima decides to attack. Gerard's human and at least fifty years older than me. Against the Kanima, I don't stand a chance, but against my own kind—”

Her eyes sparkled with determination as her words hung in the air. “I can kick their asses, Scott.” She finished off. “I know I can.”

“Okay,” Scott eventually surrendered, trepidation shining in his eyes. “Go save Isaac.”

Adrianna smiled, her chin dipping in a rare show of respect before she sprinted away from the sidelines, pushing past lacrosse fans with painted faces until she reached the entrance into the school.

She took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over her own feet more than once. The metal railing kept her upright. When she flew past the stairs, into the main lobby, Adrianna found that she sorely missed the iron bar assisting her nearly non-existent balance.

The hallways seemed to bend in front of her, or perhaps that was simply a trick of the darkness. She ran with nothing but the moon's fractured reflection to guide her. When there were no windows to see by, the shadows seemed to claw at her, wanting to rip her to shreds with sharp fangs and long, curved nails.

Screams echoed all around her. _Not mine_ , she reminded herself, darting her tongue out to moisten her stinging lips. _Someone else's. Maybe Isaac's._

Something hot dripped from her nose, falling into her mouth and tasting like acidic bile. Adrianna wiped it away. Her lips were firmly closed, not wanting to taste her own blood ever again, so much so that she could hardly manage to breathe as she stopped by the boy's locker room to rest her heaving chest.

Again, the scream echoed. Except this time, it was more of a pained grunt. Masculine, Adrianna realized. It was definitely masculine, but it didn't belong to Isaac. She'd heard him scream before—knew what he sounded like when he was in pain—and that wasn't it.

The sound of crackling electricity came from behind the door leading into the boy's locker room, followed by a choked wail that was definitely Isaac's. Through the opaque glass, Adrianna could see four shapes. Scott had been right. Gerard wasn't alone.

“It was a good effort, Isaac. It was.” She could hear her grandfather taunting, moving forward out of the formation made by the three shadows. He was carrying something, but the distorted panel of glass didn't allow Adrianna to clearly see what. It could have been a cane or an umbrella, but it could have also been a super-powered taser or a crossbow.

Carefully, holding her breath as she did so, Adrianna turned the doorknob, pushing the door open a crack through which she was able to see. Just as she'd assumed, both hunters had stayed behind as Gerard advanced on Isaac, who was dragging himself across the floor, the Kanima's venom working against him as it paralyzed most of his lower body.

Gerard hefted what he was carrying into the air and Adrianna caught the gleam of metal sparkling dangerously. Engraved diagrams and ancient Latin and Greek words decorated the blade of the broadsword clutched tightly in Gerard's steady hands. It was her broadsword. The very same one she'd used to make her first kill in Beacon Hills.

“This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime.” Gerard mourned, a savage strength overtaking him. The sword weighed at least thirty pounds. It was made of solid silver. By all means, Gerard should not have been able to use it.

But—as Isaac turned around, pulling himself off the tile floors by clutching onto two porcelain sinks on either side of him—Gerard defied his age by holding the broadsword high over his head, ready to release it in a deadly ark that promised to sever the young beta in two.

For a moment, it was too much for Adrianna. She trembled violently, struggling to remain on her feet. The shock, the pain. Even worse, the fear she so rarely felt for another person's life, thrumming painfully in her fingertips. She couldn't think of a plan, couldn't even breathe.

Swallowing roughly, the panic ebbed away as soon as Adrianna took hold of her foot-long hunting knives. She twirled them, becoming re-accustomed to their grip, before inhaling deeply and kicking the door open all the way.

Adrianna had gone into a fight without a plan plenty of times before. If she was smart about it, she could beat them. But only if she preserved her limited stamina.

Instantly, the two hunters closest to her spun on their heels to face her. She recognized their faces not only from her past, but from a dream she'd had what felt like decades ago. She'd learned enough now, to realize that it hadn't been a dream at all, but a memory, exchanged for the strength her grandfather had stolen from her.

The man to her right was bald-headed and appeared to be in his late forties, although Adrianna knew from experience that he possessed the strength of a man half his age. Many years ago, he'd taught her how to disassemble a sniper rifle.

The man to her left, a Frenchman whose only distinctive features were his thin, graying mustache and greasy, wiry hair, had been responsible for her limited archery training. His name was Antoine, she distantly recalled.

As they advanced, Adrianna had to remind herself that they would not allow the history they shared with her to affect their performance. She couldn't let it, either. Not when Isaac's life was on the line.

She felt Gerard's stare land on her, heavy and demanding. “Be careful with this one,” He instructed the hunters. Her stomach squeezed as she dared to meet his gaze. “I need her alive.”

Heart beating uncontrollably fast, Adrianna looked away from her grandfather, the madness in his gaze overpowering her, and as she struggled to regain her composure, her eyes made contact with Isaac's.

She only had a moment before the two hunters would be upon her.

Isaac was still weak, the Kanima's venom having sapped away much of his strength and mobility, but his firm stare assured her that he could survive against Gerard long enough for her to battle with the two tightly coiled wads of muscles coming her way.

That knowledge alone, made it easier to focus on the fight ahead.

Adrianna leveled her breathing, concentrating on the men before her. She anticipated their moves and thought up her own counter-attacks. Her hands clenched tightly around her knives, sweat dripping from her wrists but not interfering with her grip, thanks to the leather cord wrapped securely around each weapon's hilt.

“You messed with the wrong werewolf today, boys.” She smirked, her body's natural adrenaline already infusing with her poisonous blood. It would have to be enough. She'd forgotten the remaining doses Deaton had given her in her leather jacket.

The Frenchman attacked first, his reflexes slowed by the weight of his favored weapon, a spiked mace which he gripped with both hands. It swung in a wide arc which promised to intercept Adrianna's burning shoulder. She stepped back, just out of reach, and avoided re-opening her stitched bullet wound by a hair's breadth.

Glowering at the man, Adrianna proceeded to pull down one of the metal lockers standing like tall sentries over them. One locker fell to the ground with a loud crash, followed by another, and then another.

Adrianna didn't waste any time.

Conserving as much strength as she could, Adrianna slid over top of the first locker, using her momentum to carry her straight into the bald-headed man, her heeled boots knocking the man's knees out from under him.

Bones splintered and twisted at odd angles. Adrianna landed in a crouch over top the man. She attempted to rise up, but wasn't quick enough. The man's hands were already snaked around her biceps, holding her firmly in place.

Adrianna hastily dug her knee into the man's stomach, smirking when the action elicited a pained gasp. Unfortunately, pain alone was not something that could easily stop a hunter. Gritting his teeth, the man slammed his forehead into Adrianna's before rolling them over so that he was over top of her.

She screeched as his elbow tucked into her ribs. His meaty fists tightened around her wrists, pulling her hands apart and pointing the blades of her knives towards her own chest.

Adrianna measured her breaths the closer the knives got to puncturing her skin. Her arms quivered from her fruitless efforts to overpower the man's hold on her. In the background, she could hear the spark of a taser as Gerard narrowly missed his mark, which happened to be Isaac, who was clumsily fighting to evade her grandfather's surprisingly agile attacks.

Delving deep within herself, Adrianna scrambled for tactical ideas, but her mind was frustratingly blank. She jerked left and right, but the man was steadily seated over her, and nothing shook him.

In desperation, Adrianna lifted her knee up and was satisfied when the hunter's expression contorted in agony. The Frenchman, who had been fighting with a rogue locker intent on squashing him flat until then, turned on her the moment it was clear she was in danger of overthrowing his hunting partner.

“Stay down.” He warned her, stalking towards her as the bald-headed man moaned and hunched over in distress, not having yet recovered from the injury Adrianna had inflicted between his legs.

Adrianna rolled onto her stomach, using her tired arms to stand up and deliver a swift kick to the injured man's temple, knocking him unconscious. A dribble of bloody saliva leaked past his lip, down his cheek, captivating Adrianna.

She nearly forgot where she was. Rumbling footsteps shook her aching head. They should have meant something, Adrianna knew, but she couldn't remember what. Death called to her, his voice alluring and familiar. Adrianna felt tears prick her eyes as she realized that she was powerless to stop her father.

He was near, ready to check one more name off his list.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, tearing her away from the shivers cascading up her spine, and she barely managed to twist her upper body backwards—nearly having to place her palms flat against the floor, her feet still steady beneath her—before the Frenchman's mace flew over her head.

Snapping up to her normal height, Adrianna took advantage of the heaviness of the mace and the amount of time it took the Frenchman to pull the weapon back to his side in preparation for another swing, to step closer to the man, using her knives to slash at his exposed chest.

Within moments, her blades were slick with blood. The weight of her heart seemed to triple the longer she fought, her breathing becoming laboured and raspy. Adrianna knew it was only a matter of time before she could no longer fight.

For the first time in her life, Adrianna wished not to meet Thanatos face to face. She wasn't ready to die. Not yet.

A pounding noise began in her left temple, spreading across her skull. It sounded like her heartbeat, but was far too sporadic to have been considered healthy. Adrianna bit down on her lower lip, reminding herself to focus.

Her physical condition wouldn't matter if she didn't continue to defend herself against the Frenchman's concussive attacks.

But, just as she'd feared, in her distraction, the Frenchman managed to swing his clumsy mace. Adrianna saw the large weapon barreling towards her, but didn't have the time to react before it crashed into her skull.

Adrianna didn't remember falling, but the next thing she knew, the Frenchman's boot was planted over her chest and her back was pressed to the frigid floors. She bucked, trying to push herself up, but found that her strength had abandoned her, possibly for good.

Frustration boiled within her, replacing the fear she felt as the Frenchman pressed harder, splintering and then fully cracking her damaged ribs. Despite her best efforts, a scream tore it's way past her lips. She couldn't see anything, her world was painted in reds and blacks, consumed by pain.

Her fingers reached out, digging beneath the muddy boot, attempting to lift it off of her chest, to no avail. Adrianna's body began to tremble as her temperature dropped, her back becoming soaked with sweat.

Through the haze, she stared up at the Frenchman, who grinned down at her. His teeth were crooked and yellow. Adrianna imagined breaking them with her fist. Gaining a handle over her agony, she was able to turn her head to the side only a moment before Isaac's body was thrown down next to hers.

He convulsed for a moment, tendrils of electricity rolling off of him in waves, before he managed to stare at her. There was a bruise colouring his jaw and a blister on his neck where the prongs of a taser specifically designed for werewolves had struck.

Isaac's stiff fingers reached out to take hold of her own as a tear slipped out of Adrianna's eye, rolling down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. “I'm sorry.” She muttered brokenly. Emotion caught in her throat and her fractured voice wouldn't allow her to say any more. She hoped Isaac would understand.

Somehow, she didn't feel like herself anymore. In fact, she couldn't feel anything at all aside from the strange stirrings swirling in her gut, pushing to the surface, demanding to be expressed. Numbness began to spread, outwards from her heart, all the way to her fingertips.

“Don't be.” Isaac whispered comfortingly, his words catching over the split in his lip. “You'll need it more than I will.” His grip over her hand tightened, the prompt coming out in an exhale filled with pain.

Adrianna immediately understood. Her heart constricted guiltily, but as Isaac squeezed her hand, she squeezed right back, preparing to steal away his strength for the third time that day, only for the Frenchman's boot to move from her chest, onto her hand.

Their bones crunched and she feared that Isaac's hand would become melded to hers by the time the Frenchman was finished. Thankfully, Gerard stepped forth and leveled a hand over the hunter's shoulder.

“That's quite enough.” He informed the brute, then directed his attention over to Adrianna and tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly. “Things didn't have to happen this way, Adrianna. No one would have gotten hurt if you'd only listened to reason.”

The faces of the men she'd killed came to the forefront of her mind. Despite the tenderness in her fingers, she refused to separate herself from Isaac. She would not die a coward. Her defiance singed in her eyes as she stared evenly with the man that had tried to corrupt her beyond salvation.

“I will not repeat my mother's mistakes.” She stubbornly exclaimed. “I will not become a pawn in your games.”

Incensed beyond reason, Gerard's features contorted as he reached down, threading his bony finger through her hair, and pulled her up off the ground. “Insolent child, do you never learn?” He cried, twisting each follicle deliberately as he tried to rip a scream from her. “Love killed your mother. It weakened her to the exploits of evil creatures and warped her mind beyond recognition.”

Adrianna stared back at him, her shoulder twisted at an odd, painful angle as Isaac's hand remained firmly grasped in hers. There were a million things she wanted to say to him.

To say it had been his fault Kate had run herself ragged, all the while trying to prove herself to him. How he was the reason for her madness and her inability to trust or express emotion. That werewolves as a breed, were not inherently monsters, forged from misery and hardened into killers. How love was not a poison at all, but the antidote.

But Adrianna knew him. She knew how his mind worked.

And none of it would have made a difference.

So, instead, her eyes hardened into steel and her head bobbed side to side in the smallest shake Gerard's hold over her would allow. Tears blurred her vision as she came to terms with where she'd ended up on the battlefield.

If she was to die tonight, Adrianna knew that she would not regret her choices.

She meant to snarl defiantly, but ended up with the words bubbling in her throat, cracked and imperfect, charged with all of the hatred and guilt she'd never let herself feel. “Go to hell.”

And it was quite possibly even more bone-chilling than if she'd have screamed it off the rooftop or written it in blood. Because Adrianna's rage had always been loud and articulated through violent explosions.

Her restraint seemed to shake Gerard to his core.

Greyish orbs narrowed on her, staring into her soul, and it was as if they were the only two in the entire room, perhaps in the world. He understood at the same moment she did, that her side had been irrevocably chosen. And she had not chosen him.

“Kill the beta and take her alive.” Gerard commanded to the bruised and cut, but otherwise unharmed hunters, which limped over to Adrianna and Isaac's sides. “The game is nearly finished. It's time for the final act to commence.”

Confusion and icy fear swept over her as Gerard roughly released her. Adrianna's tail bone collided with the floor, but she felt no pain. She followed each of Gerard's steps as he exited the locker rooms, hesitating for a moment at the door, his hand over the knob, before continuing on his way.

He never looked back.

It was then that Adrianna allowed herself to take note of her situation.

The Frenchman slipped one hand under each of her armpits, lifting her off the floor and sliding metal cuffs around her wrists. The other hunter, his bald head gleaming with blood and sweat, came at Isaac—who could no longer move at all, the Kanima's venom having consumed every inch of his body—a wicked sharp blade gleaming in his hands.

“No,” Adrianna realized, her feet kicking out desperately as the man took hold of Isaac's shoulders, forcing their entwined fingers to slip apart as he did so, poising the blade beneath his chin. “No, no, no, no!”

Nothing but the frightened set of his jaw, teeth clenched as his lips pulled back, and the oceans of his wide, blue eyes informed her of his terror. A droplet of blood collected on the knife's edge, sliding all the way back to the hilt, pooling at the hunter's hand.

“Don't hurt him; let him go! Please.” She begged her captors, pulling with all her might against the hunter's grip over her arms. “He wants me, not Isaac. _He wants me!_ ” Adrianna sobbed, her limbs no longer holding any strength in them.

Isaac's gaze didn't slide away from hers, even as the hunter holding the knife inches away from his aortic vein snapped his forehead back rather harshly. Her eyes burned, blurring as tears pooled and then slid across her cheeks.

“No,” Adrianna rasped, a sudden fire igniting in her belly as her brows furrowed and her lips pulled into a thin, determined line. “No.” She repeated. The word scorched her throat, searing her bones and traveling along her muscles as the Frenchman's grip over her became delightfully cold. “Not today.”

A gasp sounded from behind her and Adrianna stretched out her fingers, taking hold of the Frenchman's wrists as his hands tried to pull away. She didn't need to turn to know that black veins were crawling out of her digits, consuming the Frenchman.

Loud and jarring, her handcuffs snapped off her wrists as her depleted stamina was greedily replenished. When they made contact with the tile floor beneath, they shattered into several bent, useless metal chunks, steaming in the hot air, ice still clinging to what remained.

Adrianna kicked back, stepping on the Frenchman's toes. He screeched behind her, but the sound did not satisfy her. She wanted more. She wanted all of it. Every last moment of his life, every memory, every skill, and most importantly—all of his strength.

Her hands, free to move as they wished, clenched around the Frenchman's elbow and wrist. As easily as breathing, Adrianna pulled the large man over her shoulder. He crashed to the ground soon after, tiles cracked in a crater around his body.

Groaning, the Frenchman stared at her, unable to move, perhaps out of fear, or—more likely—because Adrianna had taken all he had to give and then some.

Her prey was weak, now. Adrianna made her move, pressing her boot over the man's neck and kneeling down to his level. She looked up at the bald-headed man, who still held onto Isaac, the knife and his orders nearly entirely forgotten as he watched, horrified of what had become of his hunting partner.

“No, don't.” The Frenchman pleaded beneath her, the vestiges of engorged, pitch colored veins still clinging to the sides of his neck and temples, pulsing along with his shallow breaths and weakened heartbeat. “Please, have mercy.”

But whatever mercy she'd had, whatever strange spell had once possessed her and allowed her to show the tender, pathetic side of herself—her bleeding heart which oozed poison—had gone.

And all that was left was the huntress.

Without looking away from the Frenchman's startled eyes, Adrianna put all of her weight into jamming her heel through the man's throat, twisting to the side in a fast jerk.

His neck snapped as easily as breaking a toothpick.

The hunter which remained took several hurried steps back, abandoning Isaac as he fled from the girl that had easily killed his partner. “Run.” She spoke, eerily detached. And the bald-headed man did just that.

She didn't pay much heed to Isaac's worried questions as she stepped over his paralyzed form, following her prey. Adrianna was in a trance as she stalked her quarry down the long, winding corridors of her school.

It wasn't until the hunter stumbled through the double-doors which served as a back exit for the building, tripping over his feet and glancing behind him in fright, that her trance was broken.

Because waiting behind the door, was her grandfather, holding what could have qualified as a lightning rod in his hand.

Adrianna had just enough time for her pulse to falter, fear grasping her heart like an iron hand, before the pincer-tip stabbed her in the chest, sparks flying as agony like no other surged through her bones.

Her eyes rolled back into her skull and she fell to the dirt beneath, her body convulsing.

For the first time in her life, Adrianna welcomed oblivion and the cold, numbing embrace of death.

**#-#-#-#-#**

_When it happened, it wasn't anything like Jackson had expected it to be..._

He saw the clock, watched as it counted down the seconds, ticking all the way to the half minute mark, but at the same time, he didn't. It felt like it wasn't him that was looking at the clock, not his eyes that stared intensely at the blinking numbers.

It was almost like a dream. Like he was watching himself do things without any power over his decisions. He cared, but he didn't. It was real, and yet he knew it couldn't be any more than a hallucination.

He remembered every detail in vivid clarity, the way the crowd jumped up as one, counting down the seconds in anticipation of their team's victory. And yet, a moment later, as he tried to filter out the screams—one voice in particular standing out to his ears—he couldn't recall what had just happened.

Time was continuous, moving in a straight line which occasionally seemed to drag on a little longer or speed past a little faster, but which never dwelled too long on one thing. Jackson felt the same.

He'd never been claustrophobic, but the sheer tightness of his enclosure within himself, trapped inside, unable to do or say anything, reminded him of what it felt like to be cornered in on all sides stuffed within a box too small for him to fit.

And then, he heard it. The voice—no, not a voice—it seemed to resemble a thought or an impulse, but Jackson couldn't tell if it had come from his own mind, or from a different place entirely.

It told him what to do. The desire to lift his arms was suddenly overpowering. His fingernails sharpened into claws, translucent and dripping some kind of liquid, but Jackson couldn't remember if he'd wanted his body to react in such a way or if the sudden shout in his mind had been responsible.

Jackson felt fear spike his pulse, sticking in his throat, but at the same time, he was calmer than he'd ever been, a sense of peace quickly washing over his trepidation and hesitance.

He hardly noticed when the clock hit zero, the buzzer wailing loudly along with the riotous fans. The lights shut off, casting everything in darkness. Strangely, Jackson could still see clearly. It didn't alarm his as much as it should have.

There was a presence near him, almost as though someone had taken his arm and helped to steady him, but there was no one standing still next to him. People were running , screaming. He wanted to follow them, but his feet were firmly planted in the ground.

The same force spoke again, demanding his obedience, his sacrifice.

It felt like a parent was directing him down the right path, but it was also similar to a friend's advice, or his own inner revelation. A big part of Jackson didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't stop asking himself what it was.

He was just as scared of it as he was fond of it. He trusted it more than he doubted it.

And when it happened—when his claws dug through his jersey and pierced the flesh of his stomach—it wasn't anything like Jackson had expected it to be.

Because he was in agony, so much so that he wanted to scream to the heavens until his throat bled and his vocal chords no longer worked, but there was also a foggy haze that had fallen over him, anesthetizing his body and allowing him to feel nothing at all.

He was a contradiction of himself.

“Jackson!” He heard a different voice yelling. Unlike the others, it was clear and understandable, breaking through part of the cotton filling his head and slowing his thoughts.

Was that even his name? He couldn't remember.

It must have been, at one time. He felt a strange connection to it, to the high-pitched voice crying, sorrow and guilt in her tone. He couldn't remember who she was, only that she mattered to him.

The colour red came to mind the longer he thought about her, but he didn't know why.

Words he'd never had the chance to say, words that didn't make sense, kept repeating themselves over and over again in his head. Almost like a broken record.

_'I love you, Lydia Martin.'_

His tongue wanted to twist and his throat ached to release the message, but he didn't know how. Had he ever been able to speak? Perhaps that had been a dream, too.

Darkness fringed his consciousness, clinging to him like spider webs. At first, they were easily removed, but soon, there were too many and their hold over him strengthened beyond his control.

He didn't know what was real anymore. He didn't know if the hands he felt clutching his head were there, or the constant pressure on his chest and lips, or if he had a body at all.

Something coiled in his gut, wanting to break free.

But not yet, it wasn't ready yet.

It slithered and hissed, hesitant to leave the space that it had been locked away in for so long. It's eyes blinked sideways. He thought it should have been wrong, but didn't know why.

The voice was gone now, it had abandoned him to the void. He wished for death to find him, not entirely aware of what it meant, but knowing that it would somehow be able to break him free from inside the beast he had become.

No, he hadn't become it yet. At least, not entirely.

He was in the process of transformation—metamorphosis—into the very thing that lurked inside him and threatened to suppress what remained of his being. To consume him from within and disseminate it's horrifying reign on anything or anyone that dared to cross it.

The shattered fragments of Jackson Whittemore were being torn away to make space for the _Alpha Kanima_.

And there wasn't a single thing he could do to stop it.


	12. Masterplan

It was the beginning of the end. Scott could feel it in his bones.

And it wasn't just because of what had happened to Jackson. He didn't even fully understand that part, yet. It was everywhere, like an unpleasant odor or persistent stain that couldn't be washed away, no matter how hard you tried.

Gerard had fired the first shot. Now, Scott would have no choice but to fight back. There was no way he could get out of this now.

“I've got to meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened with Jackson.” The stressed Sheriff informed Scott, pushing a nervous hand through his thinning hair as he looked between him and Isaac. “I've got an APB out on Stiles. His jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means—”

He faltered, as Scott thought he might have, eyes turning hollow with confusion and distress. “Hell, I don't know what that means.” The Sheriff cursed. “Look, if he answers his phone, if he answers his e-mails; if either one of you see him.” The older man listed rapidly, his thoughts running faster than his mouth could keep up.

“We'll call you.” Isaac interrupted. He was leaning against the lockers beside Scott rather casually. The two hadn't had a proper chance to talk about what had happened on and off the field.

Scott hadn't seen Adrianna since he'd sent her to save Isaac. He didn't know what had happened to her or if it might have been the same thing that happened to Stiles. For all he knew, she could have been dead, her body dumped in some ditch or stuffed at the bottom of a dumpster. The sickening guilt he felt because of it gnawed at his gut.

“Look, he's probably just freaked out by all the attention or something.” Scott felt the need to add, although he didn't believe the words himself. “We'll find him.” He said with more conviction when the Sheriff's gaze leveled on him.

“Yeah,” Stiles' father sighed and his shoulders slumped, almost as though he had released much of the anxious pressure built up inside himself simply by expelling a breath. “I'll see you, okay?” He asked them both before walking away.

Scott glanced to the side, finding that Isaac had already done so himself, pushing off the locker to lean close to Scott's ear. “Something happened to Adrianna.” He began, only to be forced to stop his explanation mid-way, retreating back to to the safety of the lockers when coach Finstock approached, his hands on his hips.

“McCall.” Their frizzy-haired, wide-eyed, quite eccentric coach called out. Scott's shoulders rose in preparation for some form of berration or public humiliation. “We need you on the team, okay?” He said instead, surprising Scott. “You know I can't put you on the field next season if you don't get your grades up.”

And although it was still rather embarrassing for Isaac, and most of the locker room, to have heard the real reason why Scott hadn't been initially allowed to play in the championship game, it was far milder than Scott had anticipated.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, ducking his head slightly. “I know, coach.”

“All right.” Finstock eagerly accepted, obviously uncomfortable showing that he didn't always have to scream and insult his players. “I mean, I—I know I yell a lot, but it's not like I hate you guys.” He shared hesitantly. “Well, I kind of hate Greenberg, but, you know, that's different. It's Greenberg.” He explained, bushy brows rising along with his determination.

“I'm just saying we—” The older man struggled to admit, clearing his throat as his eyes flickered about the room, never resting on one single place for more than a second. “I need you on the team. Get your grades back up.” He finished, finally looking into Scott's eyes.

There was fear hidden in the depths of Bobby Finstock's gaze. Scott could understand that. The lacrosse team had been the coach's responsibility. Having a player die on the field must have been traumatic. But the longer the coach held his stare, the more Scott uncovered, not just fear, but compassion and support.

“I will.” Scott resolutely promised. He had more than just his friends counting on him, now. Despite the nervous jittering in his stomach and the cold sweat beginning at the base of his neck, Scott thought he was up for the challenge.

He had to be.

Nodding, the coach clapped his shoulder, stepping back as he acknowledged Isaac's presence for the first time since he'd come over. “I know.” He replied, for once, no trace of mocking humor in his tone.

As the kids filed out of the locker room, one by one, Scott and Isaac stayed behind, waiting until the room went silent. “Is that everyone?” He asked Isaac some time later.

Looking around, Isaac had his back to Scott as he confirmed the assumption. “I think so.” The beta muttered as Stiles' locker door crunched and bent beneath Scott's hands. He pulled, throwing the decimated metal to the floor in a twisted heap. Isaac took a step back, evaluating the situation before speaking. “You're gonna find him by scent?” He theorized as Scott dug through his best friend's locker.

“Yeah,” Scott pulled his arm back, two random articles of Stile's clothes in his hands. “We both are.” Lifting up a sweaty t-shirt to his nose, Scott held out the remaining object clutched in his left hand for Isaac to take.

“But how come you get his shirt and I get his shoe?” Isaac distractedly asked as he accepted the converse sneaker Scott had offered him. Grinning, Scott prepared to make some lousy excuse that might make Isaac laugh, but the expression on the young man's face stopped him.

Isaac frowned, his chin turned downwards and his eyes averted, all traces of mirth or sarcasm washed away. “Adrianna saved me from those hunters Gerard sent to kill me.” He told Scott.

For some reason, he appeared troubled by the words, and not relieved, as Scott had assumed he might be. “Isn't that a good thing?” He asked, the tip of his nose still stuffed within a ball of chlorine-smelling fabric.

“Yeah, I guess.” Isaac replied non-committedly. “It's just the way she did it. I can't stop playing it over in my head.” He shared, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to alleviate a headache.

Scott had to remind himself not to panic the more he thought about Adrianna. He had a bad feeling that something terrible had happened to her. “What did she do?” He questioned when it was clear that Isaac wasn't going to carry on and explain any further.

The suspense nearly set his hands shaking as Isaac's lips puckered in thought. “She fought like—well, she fought like she always has—like she loses herself in the violence and bloodshed. Like she enjoys it.”

A shiver rushed up Scott's spine. He'd nearly forgotten how dangerous their young Argent ally really was when she wasn't impeded by gunshot wounds or bleeding to death. “That's not it, though.” He astutely realized as Isaac rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “That's not what's bothering you.”

When Isaac looked up, it was almost as though the blue in his eyes had turned to solid ice. “Adrianna didn't just save me. Not like everyone else does it.” He quietly continued. “She killed one of the hunters. Snapped his neck like it was nothing.” Isaac's voice suddenly felt too loud for the room, echoing off the walls and bouncing into Scott's brain.

Yes, he'd seen Adrianna kill before; the omega on her first day in Beacon Hills had been plenty for him to go by when it came to her particular skills-set; but a secret part of him had wished that Adrianna had left all that behind the moment she'd chosen to desert her family and fight on Scott's side.

For the millionth time since becoming a werewolf, Scott's hope had blinded him. It was beginning to annoy him, if he was being truthful. He was getting tired of being so honest and trusting. So far, it had only brought him trouble.

“And that's not all,” Isaac's hands clenched into fists and then released. Stiles' sneaker bent in his strong grip. “After she killed that man, she went after the other hunter. I tried to stop her, to tell her to stay and cut her losses, but she didn't seem to hear me. There was this look in her eyes; a look I've only ever seen on one other person. ”

Scott could guess as to who Isaac was speaking about. He'd learned about the teenager's harsh childhood a long time ago, when he'd decided to help Derek break Isaac out of jail for supposedly killing his father. His mind painted a vivid image of Adrianna's determination to win. He'd seen a reserved version of it himself once or twice when she'd fought by his side.

He couldn't bring himself to imagine what it would have looked like when she lost total control.

“It was like madness—like she'd finally snapped—and I knew that nothing could stop her.” Isaac spoke the words clinging to Scott's lips. “I knew that I'd lost her. Maybe for good.”

Scott didn't want to be the one to say it, but he found that there was no one else he could rely on. Stiles was the one that usually voiced what everyone was too afraid to admit out loud. Without him, Scott felt with even more intensity, the burden resting on his shoulders.

“Do you think she's still on our side?”

Isaac shook his head, his curly hair bouncing along with the movement. Whether it was in confirmation or denial of the question, Scott couldn't tell. “That's the thing.” Isaac exhaled a long, heavy sigh. “I don't know. And I don't think she does, either.”

Scott's gut instinct was to trust her. She'd sacrificed so much; her entire family, along with her safety, and almost her life, just to keep Jackson alive. But when the wild, unpredictable side of her surfaced, none of those things made any difference. Scott had to remind himself that she'd never actually told him which side she was on. Only that she hadn't wanted Gerard to kill Jackson.

He found himself doubting, more and more, the steadfast faith he wanted to have in Adrianna Argent. His instincts had been wrong before, never more so than they'd been with the Argent family—Allison in particular. Scott wondered if the same could be said about Adrianna.

“We need to talk.” A voice boomed from behind Scott, startling him out of his internal conflict.

Scott turned on a dime, faster than any human would have been able to, and Isaac mimicked his movements, coming to a stand-still directly across from Derek.

Only, Derek wasn't alone.

Perhaps even taller and more imposing than Scott remembered him being, standing behind and slightly to the left of Derek's broad shoulders and fierce expression, was a man that Scott had never thought he'd face again.

Lips pulling into a proud smirk, one brow rising as though he was amused by Scott's obvious surprise, Peter Hale stepped forward so that he stood next to his nephew. “All of us.” He amended, grinning like he was among old friends, and not two of the people that had been responsible for his fiery death.

Scott breathed in deeply, unsure if he was hallucinating. When Peter remained where he was, the same irritating smirk and self-righteous look present on his visage, Scott said the first rational thing that came to his spinning mind.

“Holy shit.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

His eyes burned as he was pulled down a hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. Blinking harshly, the shadows from the bag that had been tied over his head for close to half an hour still clinging to his vision, Stiles grunted as the door in front of him was roughly swung open and he was shoved down the stairs in front of him.

Landing in a twisted, black and blue heap at the base of the wooden staircase, it took a moment for the dizziness to fade before he could regain his bearings. Sprawled on the floor, both his aching palms flat against the unforgiving concrete, Stiles watched as the sliver of light washing into the room through the door which he'd come, narrowed further and further until he was plunged into total darkness.

His breathing increased in fear, loud and sporadic. For whatever strange, inconvenient, totally cliché reason, Stiles had always been unnerved by the dark. The chill of the floor beneath him began to seep into his lacrosse jersey, still damp and sticking to his sweaty skin. It spiked a long needle of terror through his heart and lungs.

As he blinked again and again, desperately trying to clear his distorted vision, Stiles relied on his remaining senses to ease the tension in his shoulders and the trembling of his fingers. His ears buzzed as a familiar noise became apparent, his breathing already becoming regulated as his hyperactive mind happily set to work puzzling out his latest mystery.

Because, as his eyesight slowly returned to him, Stiles understood three very important things, the first of which being that he was not in total darkness, as he'd first assumed.

Directly across from him, some four or five meters into the pitch black of the room, an oddly colored strip of light pervaded through what appeared to be the bottom of a door, streaking into the room and allowing Stiles to vaguely make out the rough shapes and dimensions of his prison.

The next thing he realized, was that he could hear water running in loud trickles, as though someone had left a tap on and the sink was beginning to overflow. He tilted his head to the side, tuning his hearing on that one sound, which he soon discovered was coming from the very same room that the light spilling under the door had originated in.

His heart slammed against his rib-cage as a sudden scream pierced his eardrums, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing that promised to wreak some permanent damage on his ears. And that was when he understood that he wasn't alone in the Argent's creepy, dark, cold basement.

Standing on wobbly feet, Stiles reached out his hands around himself to assist in navigating the dimly lit room. He forced himself to remain relatively calm, despite the continued cries echoing through the room, as he stumbled into the wall behind him, his hands fumbling for a light switch.

After what felt like decades, Stiles' clumsy fingers caught onto the familiar pointed end of the light switch. Without giving it much thought, Stiles flipped it upwards, and although the bulbs hanging overhead flickered at first, they managed to project a steady flow of yellow light across the room for Stiles to see by.

But what he saw as he looked ahead of himself, almost made him wish he'd never bothered to turn on the light.

He saw Erica and Boyd, frightened but alive, their hands tied above their heads with the same black tape that was wrapped across their lips. Erica was standing on her tip-toes, too short to reach the rafters both of them were hanging from. Stiles wondered how they'd been caught and why Derek hadn't been, either. It was clear by the wideness of their pupils and the surprised silence resonating loudly, that they hadn't expected anyone to be joining them. Which begged Stiles' favorite question; _why?_

“Mmmhh hhmm mhhh.” Erica unintelligibly told him, her words lost between the tape and Stiles. Shaking his head, Stiles found himself stepping forward as his gaze moved between the two werewolves and the strange contortions of tape holding them steadily beneath one of the overhead light bulbs.

“What?” Stiles whispered, wary of the room at the far end where he could still hear water sloshing. “I don't understand? What happened?”

Boyd looked over his shoulder, his chin hardly moving more than an inch thanks to the small amount of space his head was afforded between his muscular biceps, before attempting to explain. “Hhhhhm mmmmhh hhhm.” In a series of mumbles even Stiles couldn't decipher.

One brow rising, Stiles sighed as he placed a finger to his lips for silence. “Okay, don't worry.” He told Erica and Boyd as he came even closer to them. “I'm gonna get you out of here.”

Stretching to his tallest height, which wasn't actually that tall, Stiles reached his hands up and began to pull away the tape holding the betas captive. Instantly, Erica and Boyd began to squirm and utter confusing syllables of gibberish messages Stiles would never receive.

“Shh.” He demanded angrily, his stare determinedly never wavering as his fingers set about to completing their task. He couldn't risk a glance across the room for fear of what he would find—of who he would find. The tightness in his gut told him that his worst suspicions were probably correct.

As another spine-shuddering scream split the stale air, Stiles' mind dared to picture what exactly was going on behind that one closed door. Someone was being tortured, that much was clear. He'd studied enough police records and watched far too many reality TV shows not to know that the sounds he kept hearing from within the room meant that water-boarding was most probably being used on the unfortunate victim.

He just didn't want to think about it—about who the victim was or why they were screaming so loudly, their voice so familiar to Stiles and yet, just out of reach of his crowded mind. Not when he was so close to freeing Erica and Boyd. Not when the tape was peeling like candy wrapper and he could already feel the restraint unraveling beneath his fingers to reveal copper colored wire.

“Ow!” He abruptly yelled as an electric shock rushed through his body. His balance swayed and he fell backwards to the floor, his skull colliding painfully with the cement.

As suddenly as he'd fallen, the noises coming from the torture room came to a halt. Soon after, the sloshing, trickling water faded away, replaced by heavy, determined footsteps.

In the light peeking through under the door, Stiles could see a person approaching, coming straight towards him. The knob began to turn and adrenaline fused with Stiles' blood making his veins feel as though they'd been lit with kerosene and stretched out beyond their limit. His vision tunneled, focused on the door and nothing else as it swung open effortlessly, squeaking slightly on it's hinges.

For a moment, as the figure walked out of the room, a pool of water clearly visible inside along with a fluorescent bulb and overturned chair, Stiles' heart stopped—not because it was Gerard Argent, of all people that walked out—but because, strapped to the toppled wooden chair, her hair drenched and her skin nearly translucent, bruises under both her eyes and several small cuts slashed across her lip and arms, was Adrianna Argent.

Her green eyes, usually filled to the brim with anger and unyielding determination, were life-less and pained as they met Stiles' surprised brown. He dully noted, as the door shut between them, that there was a knife embedded in her thigh.

“They were trying to warn you.” Gerard informed him as he unfolded a handkerchief from his sweater-vests' breast-pocket and cleaned his hands, his chin pointing towards the captured beta's who were staring in horrified awe at him. “It's electrified.”

“Uh,” Stiles unintelligently noted as he scrambled to his feet, watching as dark stains seeped from under Gerard's fingernails into the once white, pristine linen. “What are you doing with them? Has this been a part of your plan all along? What is your plan? Why is Adrianna in there? Are you going to kill us?” He fired off at rapid-speed, his head hurting as each complicated theory and connection seared through his brain-waves, tingling all the way to his toes.

Gerard laughed, as though Stiles was a mildly entertaining squirrel that the hunter hadn't yet decided was worth killing more than it was worth watching. “You are observant, I'll give you that much credit.” He darkly admitted, the cloth in his hands folded neatly as he tucked it back into his breast-pocket. “But I'm certain you can understand why I won't be able to answer all of your questions.”

“Yeah, I get it. It wouldn't be very beneficial to your plan if I end up telling Scott and Derek what you're up to.” Stiles conceded, his head bobbing nervously as he chewed on his lower lip. “I don't have to like it, though.”

Gerard smiled, condescension and perhaps a fraction of respect in his eyes as he clapped his hands together. “And I don't expect you to, Mr. Stilinski.” Despite the man's previous efforts to clean his fingers, Stiles could still see what he assumed to be Adrianna's blood tinting Gerard's hands. “What I do expect you to do, is listen, because I will only explain myself once.”

Stiles eagerly nodded, his eyes narrowed, hiding away his uncertainty and distrust. He could already guess Gerard's _modus operandi._ He was an arrogant hunter, the best at what he did, and his only weakness—like all proud psychopaths—was that he needed an audience to appreciate his genius.

“At the moment, I've decided to keep these two betas comfortably locked away.” He began, one arm stretching out and gesturing towards Erica and Boyd with a flourish. As he did so, the light bulbs flickered, a particularly strong current running through both werewolves who whimpered in pain. “There's no point in torturing them. They won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their Alpha is far too strong to allow that.” Gerard's lips lifted in a garish grin.

Stiles repressed a shudder as his brows furrowed. “Okay, so what are you doing with me?” He questioned, summoning up the bravery he'd had trouble finding up until then. “Because Scott can find me, all right? He knows my scent. It's pungent, you know?” Stiles demanded, the fear wiped clean from his system, replaced by vexation and frustration.

“It's more like a stench.” He went on to describe. Stiles was tired of always being the weak link, the tag-along, the side-kick; the Robin to Scott's Batman. “He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer covered in fecal matter and urine.”

And yet, as the words passed his lips, Stiles realized that he couldn't even defend himself without leaning on his best friend's help like a crutch. He was the only human—untrained and unprepared—in a world of monsters, super-lizard creatures, and badass hunters. Who was he kidding? He didn't stand a chance.

“You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski.” Gerard pointed out, his nose crinkled distastefully and his stare began to heat, overcoming the shock of Stiles' pathetic tirade. “Let me paint one of my own. Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound?” He taunted.

Gerard's wrinkled, aged fists clenched by his sides as he seemed to tower over Stiles. His hair was grey, nearly white, and where the top of his head was once bald, more hair follicles of the same color neatly covered the scalp, which should have been shining in the musty basement like the top of a boiled egg. Only, it wasn't. For whatever strange reason, Gerard didn't look as old as he should have.

But even so, he was still human. Both of them were. Maybe, just maybe, this was a fight that Stiles could win.

“I think I might prefer more of a still life or landscape, you know?” Stiles dared to mock the hunter, though there was a stutter in his voice. “What—what are you, ninety? Look, I can probably kick your ass up and down this room.” He reported disrespectfully, and probably would have gone on if a sudden, grating cough hadn't rung in his ears from across the room, behind the locked door.

He'd almost forgotten about Adrianna. About what Gerard was doing to her.

“How about you let us go now?” He found himself asking with more confidence than he felt. “You said it yourself, Erica and Boyd will never tell you where to find Derek, and Adrianna and I are useless to you because we don't actually know.”

“Come on, what do you say?” Stiles continued as Gerard remained silent. His eyes flickered around the room uncomfortably, always landing back where they started, on the door separating him from Adrianna. “No one has to get hurt.”

Gerard's chin tilted downwards as the older man glowered at Stiles. There was an unreadable storm brewing in his eyes that didn't bode well for anyone present. “You foolish child. You know nothing about what your friends have been up to.” He growled, teeth baring like a wild animal as spittle flew past his lips. “Adrianna knows where Derek is, I'm certain of it, and if my particular methods of extraction do not work on her, then I can always use you as _motivation_.” Gerard pronounced deliberately.

“Me?” Stiles squeaked, all of his new-found courage draining away in an instant as his stare refused to tear away from the water that was trickling out from under the shut door.

“Oh yes,” Gerard eagerly agreed, his left fist slotting into his right palm in a pummeling motion that reminded Stiles of cartoons he'd laughed at as a kid. Now, the gesture wasn't so funny. “I'm sure Adrianna's been careful to hide it, but ever since her mother's death, she's become quite the bleeding heart. All it will take is a little blood and agony on your part and I'll have what I want in no time at all.”

Stiles gulped, the saliva evaporating from his throat and leaving the organ dry and sand-filled. He breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and squared his shoulders. “I'd like to see you try.” Stiles challenged.

One of Gerard's wiry eyebrows rose in what could have been amusement or anger. “Open it up.” He commanded to no-one in particular. Stiles was only confused a moment before the door he'd been dreading and anticipating to see open, did just that.

Quietly and slowly, far too slowly for Stiles' thin patience to bare, the wooden door was pushed open from within. A hunter stood by the entrance, burly and strong, a gun strapped to both of his meaty legs.

Inside the room was Adrianna, just as she'd been a minute before, only now the chair was upright. A single bulb with a pull-cord dangling from it's base swung over her head, casting shadows every now and then over her ghostly pale skin. She was heaving, water dripping from her hair, chin, nose, and the tips of her ears.

Panic filled Stiles as he noted that black, sticky goo was dripping past her lip, staining into her soaked blouse. Stiles was no doctor, but he was absolutely certain that—human or not—blood wasn't supposed to be that color.

“Oh my god.” He breathed as she looked up at him. It wasn't the look in her eyes, so much as the extra dagger plunged through her remaining thigh which caused his distress. When it had happened, he didn't know. He hadn't heard any more screaming and by the tension in her jaw, her teeth no doubt gritted tightly together, Stiles could guess that she'd meant for it to be that way.

The sound of Gerard's knuckles cracking brought Stiles back to the present as he whirled around to face the Argent hunter. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles demanded, his voice turning shrill. “She's your granddaughter—your family!”

A fire sparked in Gerard's gaze as he abruptly grabbed hold of Stiles' shoulder, his bony fingers digging into the flesh painfully as he held him steady. “You should learn to respect your elders.”

And then he punched Stiles in the face, again and again, and Stiles realized that he should have paid more attention to the unnatural youth that Gerard possessed, because not only did he look younger, but he hit like a twenty-year old, too.

Black spots danced in his vision and the agony nearly overwhelmed him in every way possible. He nearly didn't hear Adrianna's pleading shouts for her grandfather to stop, before he was plunged into unconsciousness.

**#-#-#-#-#**

They were not pleased to see him, that much was rather obvious to Peter. Honestly, he couldn't care less. So he'd gone on a minor killing spree, given Scott super-human powers for absolutely no cost whatsoever, accidentally slashed Kate Argent's throat to ribbons, ruined a couple families, unleashed Lydia's true powers, and endured another fiery death at the hands of his unstable nephew?

Did all that really make him a monster? Peter didn't think so.

He'd been recovering from a comatose state that Kate had been responsible for putting him in, not to mention that justice had been served when he'd had his own medicine handed out to him. In Peter's opinion, that gave him all the right he needed to exact his revenge. Although, he had to admit, he hadn't wanted to hurt Laura, but, some things were simply unavoidable.

“What the hell is this?” Scott finally managed to complete a sentence that didn't involve muttering curses under his breath or staring daggers into Peter's smug form.

Beside him, Derek tensed, his feet shuffling slightly as his chest puffed out. “You know,” He began, and Peter could instantly tell by the terseness in his tone that his nephew was seriously pissed off. “I thought the same thing when I saw you and Adrianna talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station.”

Instantly, Scott's expression melted into a guilty puddle. “Okay, hold on.” He raised one of his palms outwards as he shut his eyes, collecting his thoughts. “He—he threatened to kill my mom. I had to get close to him, what was I supposed to do?” Scott admitted, licking his lips nervously.

Peter kept his arms firmly folded in front of him as he held back an amused grin. He'd forgotten how much fun the golden-hearted Scott could be, especially when he clashed with dark and brooding Derek.

Almost as though he could sense the shift in Peter's mood, Derek turned to face his uncle, eyes narrowed, demanding an explanation. “I'm gonna go with Scott on this one.” Peter supplied, his shoulders rising as he easily brushed off his nephew's irritation. “Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous.”

“Shut up.” Derek rumbled, his words nearly blocking out Scott's as the young man expressed an identical sentiment, nearly matching Derek in his intensity.

This time, Peter did grin. He rolled on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he coolly regarded the group. “Who is he?” The curly-haired beta he had yet to meet wondered, leaning closely to Scott as though he expected to get an answer from him.

“That's Peter, Derek's uncle.” Scott actually replied, much to Peter's surprise. “Little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire and Derek slashed his throat.”

Once Peter moved past the unflattering rendition of his crimes directly following his brief stint as an Alpha, he considered why the boy he'd been entirely certain was Derek's beta, was looking to Scott for leadership. More importantly, why was Derek allowing it?

“Hi.” Peter waved his hand, staring into the beta's eyes, determinedly searching for answers.

Brows furrowing, the beta's gaze didn't shy away as Peter's stare intensified, like he'd expected him to do. Instead, the young man appeared intrigued and perhaps slightly baffled as he bit the inside of his cheek. “So you're the one that killed Adrianna's mom?” He seemed to ask himself, nodding along to the words. “That's good to know.”

There was a slight, very brief dagger of what could have been surprise in Peter's shriveled, burned-up heart, and he attributed it to the strange sensation the boy's words created inside him. Peter felt as if the beta was going to tell on him. For whatever reason, Peter didn't want that to happen. He had to learn more about the mysterious Adrianna Argent before she could find out that he wasn't as dead as a door nail.

Clearing his throat, drawing the conversation back to it's original course, Scott straightened his posture as he continued rather seriously. “How is he alive?” He wondered, a twinge of spite in his voice.

Sighing, Derek ran a frustrated hand through his spiky, uncombed hair. “Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson.” His nephew shared gruffly. “And maybe how to save him.”

The beta, a bite of sarcasm shining in his eyes, breathed out through his nose in a huffed laugh. “Well, that's very helpful,” He stated bitterly. “Except Jackson's dead.”

“What?” Derek nearly gasped, instead choosing to clench his fists and pull his lips into a snarl.

Peter himself felt the shock-waves rolling through him. He looked over to his nephew, who was already staring in his direction, and Peter found that beneath the angry bravado Derek always wore, they shared the same dubious, fearful expressions.

“Yeah, Jackson's dead.” Scott affirmed, as though he could sense their unease and he was searching for the reason behind it. “It just happened on the field.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter groaned lowly as he could sense Derek hardly restraining himself from lashing out on the overturned lockers nearby. Peter didn't have the time to wonder how they'd gotten that way and he mentally reminded himself to go back when the fate of their pack and their continued existence wasn't on the line.

“Okay,” The tall, lanky beta carefully expressed, some of the worry Derek and Peter were expressing, rubbing off onto him. “Why is no one taking this as good news?”

“Because if Jackson is dead, it didn't just happen.” Peter gesticulated with his hands as he conveyed their dire situation to the two, naive werewolves before him. “Gerard wanted it to happen.”

“But why?” Peter heard Derek question, although he was standing off to the side, one hand pressed flat against an already dented locker door.

Smiling, Peter shook his head as his arms flexed anxiously where they were crossed. “Well, that's exactly what we need to figure out.” He informed the group rather patronizingly. “And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing— _quickly_.”

It was times like these when Peter wished he still had some family left, aside from his ornery, sour, emotionally-blocked, anti-social nephew. What he wouldn't give to have a little of his sister, Thalia's advice.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her fingertips where sore and blistered from the night she'd spent hunting and capturing Erica and Boyd. In some spots, the skin had broken apart into tiny, cracked segments which bled superficially whenever she pressed too hard on a particular digit.

Allison set down the knives she'd been sharpening, pulling open a drawer on her desk and uncapping a healing salve Gerard had given her as soon as she'd gotten home and he'd noticed her injuries.

Overhead, the lights flickered. If she focused hard and held her breath, Allison was convinced that she could hear the werewolves downstairs screaming. She forced herself not to mind, not to care—to accept that they were on separate sides now. That they were the enemy and not her friends.

“I saw the lights flicker.” Her father dutifully pointed out, breaking through the heated conversation he'd been having with her grandfather a moment prior. Despite herself, Allison looked over, curious as to why her father's voice sounded so torn and why Gerard—who was standing beside her—had suddenly gone rigid.

“Probably one of our guests getting comfortable downstairs.” Gerard reminded her father, setting aside the future dispute and clapping Allison's shoulder as he began to walk away. “Get some sleep.” He said, this time, talking directly to Allison. “I have a feeling the next twenty-four hours are going to be eventful.”

Her father trailed behind Gerard, following him to the end of Allison's room where they were just out of sight, but not quite out of her ear-shot. “Are you going to tell me what happened at the game?” She heard her father demand, his voice sounding tired, almost as if he'd been asking that same question over and over again, without success.

“Didn't you hear?” Her grandfather's tone lifted, hidden meaning embedded in his words like he was sharing a private joke. “We won.”

“I meant Jackson.” Her father corrected, sounding exhausted by this point.

Allison could almost picture the smile on her grandfather's face as his next words floated into the tense air. “So did I.”

Her hands, burning from over-use, the muscles tight and unyielding, loosened over the jar of healing salve which nearly clattered to the floor and would have spilled it's contents all over her cream-colored rug, if she hadn't forced her grip to remain steady.

Grimacing as the pain rushed all the way up to her elbow, Allison nearly laughed as her trembling fingers set down the jar before any real damage could be done. She couldn't remember a time when archery practice had ever been so taxing on her. Perhaps it never had been. The urge to cry was like a menacing black cloud which pressed against her eyes and squeezed at her heart.

She rasped in a breath, blinking rapidly as she concentrated on packing away her brand new set of daggers, her eyes never straying away even as she felt her father's presence remain in the room. “Do you need something?” She wanted to quietly enquire, but ended up rudely demanding.

Allison could feel her father bristling at her tone. She might have been apologetic, even sheepish, if she wasn't so tired. Allison had never been shot before, but she imagined it must have felt similar to the crushing agony stabbing into her lungs with every exhale and inhale she managed to take.

“I want you to step aside and let us handle this.” Her father eventually said after meandering around her room for a few minutes more, collecting his thoughts.

She looked up, meeting her father's intense stare with an equally fiery gaze. Rage bubbled just beneath the surface, ready to be tapped into at a moment's notice. “You're kidding, right?” Allison spat, the knives and her blistered fingers all but forgotten.

Chris shook his head as he clasped his hand in front of him. “One of your friends is dead.” He reminded her, his arms tensing as though he was holding back from touching her, from comforting her like a child.

The picture of Jackson's body, shredded, bloody, and un-moving, was burned into Allison's mind. She didn't need her father to remind her what she'd lost. Each death felt like a right of passage, more ammunition in her quiver, and another reason why she had to complete her mission.

“Because of Derek.” Allison shuddered, the name of her mother's murderer tasting acrid in her mouth. “How do you think Jackson became that thing in the first place? Kate, mom, Jackson.” She listed, silently vowing that there would be no more.

Her father's chin bowed, perhaps out of respect or even embarrassment, but it didn't matter to Allison. Even though needles stabbed her fingertips as she roughly shut the briefcase storing her shiny set of daggers, Allison found herself relishing in the pain; in a chance to escape the disarray of her emotions.

“What about Scott?” Her father asked. Allison felt her breathing falter, the pain of her fingers suddenly not enough to distract her. “What if he dies too?”

She didn't want to think about it. Scott was Scott. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shut him out of her heart—not entirely. “Since when do you care about Scott?” Allison deflected as her eyes watered despite the effort she placed into keeping them dry. Inside her mouth, the skin of her cheek split beneath her bite, spewing a small amount of copper-tasting blood.

Her father stayed where he was but somehow, his presence had been magnified. She could feel his disapproving stare on her back like a lazer-beam, hot and precise. “I care about you.” He whispered the final straw that snapped Allison's composure.

“Really, Dad?” She growled, her throat suddenly too tight and dry to swallow. “If you're going to start quoting from the list of the top five things a parent should say to a child every day, why don't you start with, _'I'm proud of you'_?” Allison lifted her hands up, finally giving in to the temptation to face her father as she turned. “Because I am doing exactly what you wanted.” Allison dug a pointed fingernail into her chest as she glared at her father.

“No, Allison.” Chris resolutely denied, his pained expression begging for her to understand. “You're doing exactly what he wants. We all are.”

Shaking her head, Allison released a grating, aggrieved laugh. She thought about telling her father how wrong he was, about reminding him how he'd been the one to encourage her training and that her mother's dying wish had been for Allison to fill the role of a leader—of a huntress.

But her eyesight was already hazy, fatigue pressing on her every movement and slowing down her reflexes, nearly negating her ability to hide the tattered insides of her heart. She feared what would happen if she continued to argue. What would she unleash, what would her father see, if she lost total control right there?

“I'm tired.” Allison said instead. Swallowing roughly, the saliva felt more like molten lava as it slid down her throat slowly. “I just really want to pass out, okay?” She insisted when her father relayed his confusion through a furrowed brow and tightly pressed lips.

“Fine.” He reluctantly agreed as Allison's heavy feet dragged on the carpet, carrying her to her soft, wonderful bed. She sighed, hoping the tension in her chest would abate, but finding that it remained as oppressing as ever.

“By the way,” She called out as Chris made his way to the far side of her room, calmly inspecting her array of weapons, most of which Gerard had given her in the past few days. “Don't forget you owe me a new bow.”

She remembered the way he'd shot at her, snapping the wooden bow in her hands cleanly in half. Even now, she wondered whether she was glad he'd stopped her from possibly killing Erica and Boyd right there in the woods, or angry that he'd thought he had to.

His back was turned to her but she could see that under the fabric of his shirt, his muscles were tense and unrelenting. He was angry, perhaps just as angry as she was. “And a new crossbow.” He added, holding up her shiny, hardly used crossbow, the string where she'd ordinarily nock an arrow hanging loosely in the air, broken.

But no matter how angry her father became at her, no matter how much rage filled up inside him at the actions he seemed to think were foolish and immature, but which Allison knew to be necessary evils, Chris would never be able to understand her pain.

Maybe there was only one person who could relate to the whirlwind that her life had become ever since her mother had been murdered.

Unfortunately, Allison hadn't seen Adrianna for many days now. It was apparent that her cousin had chosen to fight on Scott's side. And yet, there was a hopeful glimmer inside her damaged heart that told Allison it wouldn't be that way forever.

They were both Argents, after all. Both destined to lead the family to greatness.

And if she didn't, then there was only one thing Allison could do.

For the good of the innocent humans Allison was entrusted with protecting, she'd have to kill her. She'd have to kill them all.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The floorboards groaned in protest under his feet as he followed Derek and Peter through the gloomy, musty rooms of the burned-down Hale house. In his pocket, Scott felt his phone buzzing. By instinct alone, he reached inside and pulled out the phone, reading the text message he'd gotten from the Sheriff.

“Oh, thank god.” He muttered, truly relieved as the bright screen glared up at him through the fog, nearly blinding him. “They found Stiles.” He told Isaac, who was carefully following each of his steps, just as afraid of falling through the floor as Scott was.

A small, hesitant smile slid across Isaac's lips, but his eyes remained hollow and concerned. Scott felt instantly guilty, his happy expression sliding off his face. He'd forgotten all about Adrianna and how, now that Stiles was found, no one was looking for her. As hard as it had been, they'd come to the decision that telling Stiles' father to send out an APB on a sword-wielding, karate-chopping teenager with super-human powers the likes of which Scott didn't understand at all, was far too outlandish to be taken seriously, even for Beacon Hills.

“I told you,” Derek complained as he stopped in front of Peter, who was kneeling down beside the rickety staircase in the center of the home. “I looked everywhere.”

Peter's hands slid across the third step from the bottom, searching for something. As his fingers pulled out the charred plywood covering the bottom half of the step, Peter looked over his shoulder at Derek, a boastful smirk present on his quirked lips. “You didn't look here.”

Scott leaned in to get a better look as Peter's hands reached into the step, coming back with a large, rectangular box clutched tightly in his grip. “What is that, a book?” Derek insulted as he studied the object over Peter's shoulder.

“No.” Peter denied, his brows pinching along with his disbelief. “It's a laptop. What century are you living in?”

Blowing over the lid, a cloud of thick, gray dust—or perhaps ash—rising into the air, just as promised, Peter snapped open a clasp and unfolded the computer, which roared loudly, it's processors working tiredly through the dirt collected in it's circuits. Scott found himself speechless as the screen lit up white. A part of him had thought Peter must have been lying. He'd never seen a laptop as thick as this one.

“A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had.” Peter explained as they waited for the dinosaur to boot up. “Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones that keep records.”

The loud, disruptive buzzing of his phone interrupted the strange, unsettling stare Peter had directed at him. Fishing out the device, Scott answered, his own gaze reluctant to tear away as Peter's eyes narrowed.

“Hey mom,” He began hurriedly, intent on finishing the conversation as soon as he could. “I can't talk right now.”

“Oh yeah?” His mother replied, quick to realize that he was about to hang up on her. “Well, I'm so freaked out that I can barely talk either.”

Her voice trembled and Scott could almost swear that her heartbeat pulsed through the phone, into his hands. It was fast, frightened. “What's wrong?” He instantly demanded, all thoughts of Peter's strange behavior wiped from his mind.

“Something—definitely something.” His mom assured him. “I don't know what, but I think you're going to want to see this for yourself.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed as his mind recalled where his mom had gone after the game. “I'm on my way.”

His mother had joined the EMT's in taking Jackson's body to the hospital's morgue. Which meant that, just like Peter and Derek had suspected, Jackson's death hadn't been an accident. Now he had the chance to find out why.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Scott clapped Isaac's shoulder. “Can you come with me?” He asked. “Something's happening with Jackson.”

Frowning, Isaac nodded and easily followed behind Scott as they made their way out of the house. “Scott, wait!” Derek called out, stopping them in their tracks as his confusion became evident in his wide stance and clouded expression. “We're out of our depth here, with the Kanima. Do you know where the bestiary is? We might need it.”

Scott felt the USB drive in his pocket become ten times as heavy as it once was. He tilted his head to the side as he considered his options. Beside Derek, Peter stood up so that their shoulders touched.

“I'm sorry, I don't have it anymore.” He shrugged, already feeling guilty for lying. “Gerard took it.”

The two Hales stood side by side for a moment, suspiciously watching him as Isaac waited just beyond the door frame. With a good-natured grin, Scott lifted his shoulders again in a gesture that was supposed to be sheepish before walking away.

For once, he was glad that he had a reputation as an honest, naive altruist. It meant that Peter and Derek thought they could easily read and manipulate him, when in reality, he'd been doing exactly what he wanted to do, all along. 

Even if Derek had sincere intentions with the bestiary, Scott knew that Peter was literally bad to the bone. He'd already learned not to trust the elder Hale the hard way, and Scott was in no hurry to re-learn that lesson.

Not when he was so close to finishing the plan he and Adrianna had crafted up.

Not when he was so close to finally winning.

Not this time.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The doors to his study were locked and the curtains drawn, leaving the desk lamp as the only source of light in the whole room. Gerard preferred it that way. If he could barely see, that meant that anyone passing by, intent on eavesdropping or not, wouldn't be able to catch more than a blurred shadow through the french doors sealing him in the room.

As he pulled open a drawer which slid languidly on it's hinges, Gerard shoved aside the myriad pencils, pens, and small tools that littered the space before latching his index finger around a small indentation in the drawer. 

With little effort, Gerard was able to pull away the false bottom of the drawer to reveal the lock box within. He eagerly reached for the metal container, sliding it onto the desk top and retrieving a key from his pocket which slotted perfectly inside the keyhole of the box.

Turning the key and lifting the lid, Gerard smiled greedily as purple light reflected on his visage from the large syringe of wolf'sbane contained within. His trembling fingers took hold of the six-inch long, glass body, the metal plunger fitting firmly in his grasp.

He had waited far too long to use this particular tool. 

Carefully, Gerard stashed the syringe in a compartment meant for guns or knives which had been custom sewed into his suit jacket. Placing back the lock box, followed by the drawer's false bottom and the various knick knacks stored within, Gerard stood up quickly, overly accustomed to the borrowed strength he'd taken from Adrianna and, as a result, feeling the strain in his tired muscles much more than he usually did.

He frowned, clenching a wobbly fist and finding that the bones nearly creaked. Shaking his head, Gerard realized that he had to act quickly, before his disease ran it's course.

Navigating the corridors of his son's home, Gerard made his way to the basement at a steady pace so as not to attract unwanted attention. He was mindful not to step on loose floorboards as he descended into the basement, the chill from the concrete floors and walls seeping through his skin and forcing his stiffening joints to complain.

Since coming to Beacon Hills with his granddaughter, Gerard had been able to stave off many of the symptoms that the parasitic cancer inside him should have gifted him. But even with the strength of a demigod, he couldn't outrun the truth forever. Apparently, it had chosen to catch up to him now, of all times.

Walking past the guards he had stationed near the two werewolves Allison had captured for him, along with Scott McCall's rather useless best friend, Gerard dipped his chin in a silent command as he plowed past, unobstructed.

Stiles Stilinski, as the boy seemed to prefer being called, wasn't going to be of any further use to him. There was no need for him to stay when Gerard no longer needed him. Certainly not when he'd be much more effective as a warning to Scott.

As he was lifted up off the floor, the Stilinski boy struggled, the bruises mottling his features appearing much darker in contrast to his pale skin, eyes wide and frightened as he followed Gerard's path towards the locked door Adrianna was hidden behind.

“Stop! Let me go!” He roughly told the two men effortlessly dragging him up the stairs. “What are you doing? Gerard, what are you going to do to her?” He shrilly called out, concern evident in the way his gaze jumped between Gerard—who had taken the time to watch the ordeal with triumphant revelry—and the shut doorknob clutched in his hand.

“How is it that the youth say it these days?” Gerard sarcastically wondered, tapping at his chin as he stretched out the boy's anxiety. “Oh yes, it's none of your business.”

The wolves hanging from the ceiling thrashed against their restraints, electricity crackling off their skin in showers of orange sparks as the young Stilinski was pulled away, the door slamming in front of his shocked expression.

“Now, that's much better.” Gerard clapped his hands, turning his back on both beta werewolves and pushing open the door before him. “Since you've been adamant throughout your punishment not to share information regarding Derek Hale's whereabouts, you've forced my hand.” He shared ominously, shutting the door behind him.

Adrianna's eyes stayed fixed on the struggling betas as long as the door permitted her. Once it was shut, the lock slotting in place, she turned her attention on him, a glare far braver than she should have permitted, adorning her features.

“You and I both know that nothing and no one can force you to do anything.” She growled, her hands secured onto the armrests of the wooden chair with plastic zip ties which dug into her flesh, aggravating the skin and drawing a thick line of black blood. “This has been your plan all along, since the moment you got sick. Don't treat me like a fool. I know you better than you think I do.”

Adrianna's chin rose defiantly as her green eyes nearly burned with the intensity of her ire. Gerard felt the sides of his lips twitch as he nodded his head imperceptibly. “You are so much like your mother.” He voiced, withdrawing the syringe from inside his jacket. “It's a shame things had to happen this way.”

Starting towards her, Gerard glanced at the hunters standing on either side of her and they moved into place, holding either of her arms in place as she began to struggle. “What's going on?” She breathed, fear rising to the surface for the first time that night. “What are you doing? What's in that?”

Her voice cracked as Gerard came within a foot of her. He held the syringe in front of her face tauntingly. Purple light shone across her pale features, drawing out the dark blue and black bruises under her eyes and making her look very much like a cadaver.

“I think you know what this is, my dear Adrianna.” He moved the syringe and Adrianna's gaze followed. She was almost entranced by the wolf'sbane. If it hadn't been for the droplets of sweat accumulating at her temples and dripping from the corner of her eyes, Gerard would have never been able to tell how truly terrified she was.

“Wolf'sbane.” She looked up at him, hatred in her eyes though her body was still.

That one word, so fragile and honest on her lips, gave way to how weak she was. It told him that, despite how much fight was in her eyes, her body was depleted beyond it's breaking point. She was so close to snapping in half, a shiver ran up Gerard's spine. He felt excited and disturbed at the same time.

“Now, my granddaughter, before the inevitable must occur,” He shed his jacket, dropping it to the floor. “Grant me the strength I will need to control the Kanima and purge Beacon Hills of the vermin werewolves.”

Adrianna bit her lip, looking away from him, but she did not speak. Gerard took his chance, reaching out with his free hand, which shuddered and appeared sickly—wrinkles and dark blemishes marking the skin—before making contact with Adrianna's frigid cheek.

Gerard sighed in relief as black veins sprouted on the top of his hand, stretching to Adrianna's skin and climbing down her neck. He flexed the muscles in his arms, happy to feel the familiar corded ligaments and tendons responding to his every command.

Tilting his head back in euphoria, Gerard forgot about the years of grueling training Adrianna had been through, the hellish landscapes and hunting parties she'd been forced to endure, and the blood which ran through her veins; diluted or not.

Because, as inhuman and as imperfect as Adrianna was, she was still an Argent.

As he gradually sapped the life out of his granddaughter's weakened form, he forgot to give her the respect she deserved. He forgot about the tiny, sliver of fear he'd felt towards her since the moment Kate had brought her to him. He forgot just who it was that he was dealing with.

It was, quite possibly, his most foolish mistake.

With his eyes closed, she lashed out, her foot hooking around Gerard's leg and toppling him to the ground in a dazed pile of spaghetti limbs. When he recovered a moment later, he was rendered immobile as he watched the creature he'd forced out of Adrianna, surfacing it's menacing head.

Somehow, she'd broken one of her arms free from the plastic restraint and was managing to fight off both guards, one-handed. Blood steadily dripped from her lacerated wrist, telling Gerard of the effort it had taken to escape. He frowned as she grabbed hold of the chair, which her left arm was still strapped to, and swung the wooden seat straight into one of his most trusted hunter's chest, propelling him towards the opposite wall where he collided and fell.

Not a sound was heard from the hunter after that and he did not right himself where he lay, twisted uncomfortably. Gerard guessed that he'd been knocked unconscious.

Grunting from the effort, Adrianna pulled what had survived of the battered chair into a tall arch over her head, crashing the wood into the floor beneath her as the remaining hunter across from her stood still, awaiting her next move.

The chair shattered and fractured, and only the armrest remained attached to Adrianna's arm. She bared her teeth like an animal, releasing a snarling screech that echoed off the walls and rung in Gerard's ears.

He realized, too late, that he'd underestimated her greatly, but there was still time to correct his miscalculation. His plan could still work so long as he could regain control over his granddaughter.

Standing with great effort, Gerard leaned heavily against the wall behind him to steady his trembling knees. He felt older than he had in years. It gave him the angry determination he needed to unleash his own monster.

As Adrianna kicked the dark skinned hunter that opposed her, stepping inside her attackers defenses and proceeding to release a volley of under-handed punches, Gerard surged forth, nearly tipping forward and falling as he did so, and grasped the syringe tightly in his hand.

She didn't have time to turn as Gerard met eyes with the hunter she was practically riddling with holes, silently communicating his intentions, before the dark-skinned man wrapped his arms around her and held her in place as Gerard raised his arm and prepared to stab the syringe into her back.

But Adrianna was faster than he'd given her credit for. She wriggled in her captor's hold, slamming her foot down on the man's toes and managing to turn around so that she faced Gerard as he posed the syringe for the killing strike.

There was a split second where Gerard was at war with himself. Adrianna, so beautiful and young—a spitting image of her mother when she'd been sixteen and nearly graduated from her training—was not the half-breed scum he'd convinced himself she was.

Without a doubt, she was his family, his blood. Adrianna Argent was his granddaughter and the direct offspring of death himself. _How can I destroy something so wonderful? How can I throw away all those years of training?_ He asked himself.

Adrianna stared at him, angry acceptance clouding her gaze as her forehead pinched. She understood that her fate was in Gerard's hands, as did he. He alone would decide if the syringe fell into her chest and poisoned every pore and every cell in her body. He alone would decide if she lived or died.

But then, the moment passed.

Gerard made his decision without even blinking.

The syringe slammed into her chest, boring through her flesh and grating against her rib cage, and Gerard depressed the plunger, releasing the entire vial of wolf'sbane into her body.

Neither of them looked at the syringe as the purple poison rapidly evacuated the glass tube and filled her up instead. They were too busy staring at each other.

Betrayal sang in her eyes, loud and clear.

Victory, Gerard was certain, glittered in his.

As the syringe emptied, Adrianna gasped hollowly, as though her chest was caving in on itself, and her captor's hold slackened as she collapsed to the floor. Black tar leaked out of her eyes in haunting tears as she convulsed, her hands clenching and unclenching spastically.

Gerard looked down at her, straightening his shirt and adjusting his cuffs. “You chose the wrong side, Adrianna.” He said, a business-like air to his words. “The wolf'sbane currently battling with your cells and suffusing your organs was my only method of persuading you to rejoin me in my quest to avenge Kate's death.”

“Don't fight it, my young protege.” Gerard leaned down and grabbed hold of her arm so that he was closer to her, so that he could look her in the eye and smell her rage. “Soon enough, you will be back where you belong, at my side.”

What remained of her strength slowly began to transfer over to him as Adrianna closed her eyes weakly, the sticky pitch nearly gluing them shut when she struggled to reopen them. “I'll never join you.” She rasped stubbornly even as she began to choke, her lungs filling with liquid and slowly drowning her from the inside. “I'd rather die.”

“And you certainly will, _if_ the wolf'sbane doesn't work as it should.” He stipulated, eyes widening gleefully as Adrianna's confusion became apparent. “You didn't think the poison was meant to kill you, Adrianna?” Gerard wondered, his words clipped and condescending.

Twirling a strand of her brownish blonde hair around his finger, which now held steady thanks to the youth he was siphoning away, Gerard pulled away, standing up as he memorized her features.

“It was meant to control you, although the small amounts I gave you didn't seem to be doing a very efficient job of it.” He gloated, smiling as Adrianna released an agonized groan. Whether it was because of his words, or the fire in her blood, he wasn't certain. “This large dose should account for your rebellious tendencies.” Gerard assured her, unlatching the door and stepping out.

“And if it doesn't?” She croaked, causing him to stop in his tracks and look at her over his shoulder.

Gerard felt a deep sadness take hold of him as wracking coughs afflicted Adrianna, black tar spewing out of her lips. He remembered what she'd been like as a child. She'd been the perfect soldier. All he'd ever wanted was to bring that side of her back and stomp out the insurgency that had rapidly blossomed within her since her mother's death.

“Then, my hapless granddaughter,” He quietly uttered, allowing some of his regret to shine through. “It will kill you.”

He left her without another word, to make her choice.

A part of him hoped that she died, even though she was a necessary part of his plan.

Gerard didn't want to know what could happen if he ever lost control over her again; what she would do to him; how bloody and sweet her revenge would be.

Sometimes, something that dangerous, was better off dead.

**#-#-#-#-#**

There wasn't a bone in his body that didn't hurt. Not even his pinkie finger had been spared.

Ever since Stiles had stumbled into his home and somehow convinced his father not to rain down his terrible wrath on the so-called 'lacrosse players' from the losing team which had been responsible for beating Stiles up so badly, there was a hand-shaking, breath-shortening terror that refused to abate inside of him.

He didn't even want to think about what Gerard had done to Adrianna, because he'd done something, Stiles was at least sure of that much.

The knock on his door, loud and jarring, grated against Stiles' last, severely frayed nerve. “Dad,” He found himself shouting, and he had to bite down on his trembling fist to quiet his voice and steady his thoughts. “I said I'm fine.”

There was no reply from the other side of the door. Stiles rolled his eyes, trying his best to remain his usual sarcastic, witty, overly-annoying self, but finding that the act was even harder than battling the darkness that was threatening to consume him in a world of fear.

“It's alright, Dad.” He muttered despondently as his hand struggled to twist the doorknob. “I mean it, I'm fine.”

But instead of the tall sheriff uniform, greyish blonde hair, stern expression and concerned eyes of his father, Stiles saw red and dazzling hazel and pale porcelain; _Lydia Martin._

“Hi.” She began cautiously, ducking her head as she looked up at him from the corner of her multi-coloured eyes. Stiles hadn't realized how many colors swam within the depths of them. There was green and brown and even a few tones that seemed purple.

“Hi.” He dumbly replied, jaw slack as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Lydia Martin, the girl of his dreams, was actually standing outside his bedroom, waiting to come inside, and she'd talked to him— _talked_ to him.

The pain that ached in his shoulders and stabbed at his knees suddenly didn't feel so overwhelming anymore.

“Your father let me in.” Lydia awkwardly pointed out, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the next.

“He did?” Stiles wondered, confused for a moment before he remembered that nearly everyone _but_ Lydia knew how he felt about her. “Yeah, of course he did.”

“What happened to your—uh,” She pointed at his left eye, which Stiles would have known to be badly bruised, even if he didn't count the terrible pounding he felt in the area.

“Oh,” Stiles stuttered, idly tracing his fingers over the damage. “Uh—yeah, no, it's nothing. Don't worry. I'm fine.” And, rather abruptly, Stiles realized that she was still standing outside and he hadn't invited her in yet.

“Do you want to come in?” He asked, hurriedly stepping aside and allowing Lydia to walk inside his room. “How are you doing?” Stiles wondered as he sat down on his wrinkled bed, smoothing down the sheet underneath himself to give his nervous hands something to do.

Lydia's eyes studied every square inch of his room, down to the pins he'd used to hang up posters of bands he no longer liked. Embarrassment surged through him as he bit his lips, his cheeks tinging red. Stiles had nearly forgotten how disorganized his room was, old clothes and crumpled homework pages scattered all over the floor. He hoped she wouldn't notice, even though he knew she already had.

“They won't let me see him.” Lydia's voice was cracked and shrill, like she'd spent hours crying. Stiles didn't know how he'd missed it before. “I'm supposed to give him something.” She went on to say, her hands folding in front of her chest as her fingertips briefly touched one of the chains adorning her neck.

“He kept asking for it back.” She nearly sobbed, her chest shaking as the tears pooling in her eyes finally fell, dragging mascara across her cheeks. “I gave it to him that day we went to Scott's house to study, when Derek showed up outside.”

Lydia was heaving, hardly managing to speak properly. Stiles stood and uncertainly wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. He guided her to the bed and sat her down. Stiles thought he should have said something comforting, but his mind came up blank.

“But then, he turned into something different; his skin was scaled and his eyes were slitted; almost like a reptile.” Lydia shook her head, sniffling, her red hair falling like a curtain over most of her face. “And he dropped it and I didn't give it back.” She mournfully cried, her head falling into her hands as her body shook and she leaned against Stiles' chest.

Hesitantly, Stiles reached up his hand, which was uncomfortably curled around Lydia's shoulder, and began to stroke her strawberry blonde head. “It's okay, Lydia.” He found himself saying. “Don't worry. Everything will work out in the end.”

But, as the shiny glimmer of a key hanging off the end of one of Lydia's necklaces caught his eye, Stiles couldn't bring himself to believe what he was saying to be true.

He had a bad feeling that they were totally unprepared for what was about to hit them. Everything wasn't going to work out, at all. In fact, things had already started falling apart.

Erica, Boyd, and probably Adrianna were all being tortured by Gerard to try and find Derek. Stiles had been beaten up, Jackson was dead, Lydia was unraveling all of their secrets and having a mental breakdown as she did so, and Scott was the only one that seemed to want to fix things anymore.

Stiles dreaded what a turn for the worse would look like. He wished that he'd never gotten involved in the mess he found himself entangled in. Maybe then, he could have had a chance at a normal life.

Maybe then, he wouldn't have to be afraid about not seeing tomorrow.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Melissa bit her lip as Scott leaned over Jackson Whittemore's body, his expression one of total perplexion with a tiny amount of barely hidden fear. She glanced over at Isaac Lahey, who'd arrived alongside her son, to gauge his reaction to the jelly casing engulfing Jackson's carcass and dripping down the body bag in tiny splatters, but found that he was just as worried—if not more worried—than Scott was.

“What's happening to him?” Scott questioned as he returned to her side, lowering himself down from his tip-toes.

Melissa felt her brows rise, nearly disappearing into her hairline as she frowned in disbelief and anxiety. “I thought you were gonna tell me.” She informed her son, trying her best not to seem as though she was dumping all of the responsibility onto him, when in reality, she was doing just that. “Is it bad?” Melissa wondered, tucking a chunk of her frizzy curls behind her ear.

Scott licked his lips, pressing them tightly together the way his father always did when he was in over his head and trying not to show it. “It doesn't look good.” He agreed rather vaguely, his gaze moving over to Isaac as they shared a meaningful look.

“Adrianna would know.” Isaac voiced what the two of them had apparently been silently debating. “She always knows. And if she doesn't, she'll be able to read the bestiary and find out.”

“Yeah,” Scott idly considered, turning back to stare at Jackson's jellified body. “But she's not here.” Jackson's claws were darker than Melissa remembered Scott's being, and there were greenish scales pulsing over his skin in waves.

“Well, maybe we can find her.” Isaac suggested, scratching at his temple nervously. “She can't have gone far. I mean, you saw how weak she was at the game.”

Melissa reached out to touch the transparent goo encasing Jackson's body. It was quivering, almost like someone was shaking a bowl of jell-o, and despite how disgusting and absolutely terrified Melissa knew the clear substance would make her feel, she needed to find out more. The world she found herself in now was a strange one. A world where she was at the bottom of the food chain.

“No, I don't think so.” Melissa dimly recognized Scott arguing. “We don't really know her, remember? She could be anywhere by now.”

Narrowing her eyes, Melissa's brow furrowed as she saw Jackson's hand twitch. An instant later, it was as though the movement hadn't happened at all. She adjusted her grip over the pen she'd first used to touch the goo and slowly came towards the body, intent on touching the casing.

“You don't think she's—” Isaac swallowed before continuing, his words washing over Melissa like background noise. “She can't be dead.”

“We don't know that for sure.” Scott reminded his friend as Melissa's pen came within millimeters of the shivering gel.

A rush of courage possessed her as Melissa stabbed the casing, dipping the pen through the thick mucus and coming back with goo coating the end of the pen. She held it up close to her face and skimmed her index and fore-finger over the gel. Rubbing it across her fingers, Melissa wondered what it was made of. Probably some kind of chemical compound, maybe enriched with proteins or enzymes.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Scott's loud voice interrupted her train of thought. Melissa dropped the pen she was holding, startled as her heart nearly shot out of her chest. “Don't touch that, it's dangerous.” He reprimanded her more lightly as he watched her place a hand against her rib-cage to steady her heartbeat.

“Sorry,” Melissa apologized self-consciously. “I was just curious.”

Scott narrowed his eyes, nodding, although he didn't appear convinced. “Jackson can create a paralytic toxin. We don't know if this is that.” He informed her helpfully. “Just, make sure you don't touch it again.”

Melissa smiled even though she felt awful. Her own son was telling her not to touch the dangerous material. It was like a role reversal. All those years she'd spent yelling at him not to swallow flies, touch fire, eat dirt, or run with scissors and now, it was her turn.

Despite everything Adrianna's insight had taught her, Melissa wasn't sure she was ready for that.

“Whoa,” Isaac suddenly gasped, pointing at Jackson's corpse, nearly rendered speechless. “What the hell is going on? I thought he was dead?”

Turning to see what exactly Isaac was looking at, Melissa felt her heavy heart plummet to the bottom of her stomach because, sure enough, Jackson—who was supposed to be dead, who had no pulse and who'd shredded his own internal organs and bled to death—was lifting his arm above his head, out of the gel casing.

“Oh my god.” Scott breathed beside her, stepping back a few feet to where Isaac had retreated and taking Melissa along with him. “This has got to be a bad sign.” He muttered as Jackson's arm slowly lowered back to his side.

“What do we do?” Melissa whispered, feeling as though speaking too loudly could force the lizard-creature she couldn't remember the name of, which was Jackson, to wake up.

Scott's gaze slid over to Isaac again and they shared the same sort of wordless communication that Melissa was beginning to envy. There had been a time when Scott had relied on her for guidance. Now, he looked to his friends. And yet, there was a part of Melissa that knew it wasn't like that, that knew she had no reason to feel jealous. If anything, Isaac was looking to Scott for a decision, for leadership, and not the other way around.

“We've got to zip him back up.” Scott concluded resolutely, a serious expression marring the ordinarily youthful, inexperienced features on his face. If Melissa hadn't known better, she would have said that he was closer to twenty-five than he was seventeen.

“Okay,” Melissa eagerly volunteered, feeling undermined by her son's unexpected bravery. “I'll do it.”

Both boys stared at her incredulously. They didn't seem to believe what they were hearing, that Melissa, who was currently freaking out and hiding it very badly, wanted to get up close and personal with Jackson the lizard-man.

She didn't. Of course, she didn't. But Scott and Isaac didn't need to know that.

“Are you sure, mom?” Scott delicately pressed, his tongue darting out to moisten his chapped lips as his eyes briefly flickered over to the half-open body bag. “He could hurt you.” Scott reminded her, concern crinkling the bridge of his nose.

Melissa followed his gaze and her spine was struck rigid as she saw Jackson's hand lifting out again, claws dripping clear, viscous goo. “Yeah,” She weakly affirmed, gulping. “I'm sure.”

Her feet shuffled on the floor as she forced herself to move towards the threat, instead of farther away, like she so desperately wanted. When she was right next to the body bag, so close she could smell the Plasticine-like chemicals wafting into the air, presumably originating from the goo, Melissa hesitantly grabbed hold of the cold, slimy zipper several feet down the bag.

Melissa didn't dare look back at Scott and Isaac. She knew she'd lose her nerve. It was now, or never. With a deep breath, Melissa began to pull the slider across the two strips of metal teeth, linking them together as she went.

“Hey,” Melissa sighed as she reached Jackson's chest, nearing his chin. “This isn't so bad.”

Of course, it was in that moment that the zipper chose to jam. The nervous smile that had once adorned her lips slid off in a moment as she struggled with the stuck slider, Jackson's razor sharp teeth only inches from her trembling hands.

“Mom, zip.” Scott's panicked voice cut through the haze in her mind. “Zip, mom, zip!” He encouraged her as Melissa felt the body beneath her begin to move, almost like a snake uncoiling itself from within the bag.

“Okay, okay.” She told herself, taking hold of the terror in her heart and suppressing it as best she could. “Okay, here we go.” Melissa finally freed the zipper, pulling it along as quick as she dared over the boy's head and all the way to the end of the bad.

As soon as the job was done, Melissa stumbled a good meter away from the medical table, unstable on her feet and colliding with Scott's chest. “Oh my god,” She sighed, tears pricking her eyes. “That was terrible. I've never been so afraid in my life.” She shared, happy that Scott didn't pull away.

“You did great, mom.” Scott congratulated her, his crooked grin nearly wiping away the ordeal from Melissa's mind. “You did really great.”

Laughing under her breath, Melissa stepped aside before things could get embarrassing for Scott. “You really think so?” She asked shyly, her heart still pounding loudly in her ears.

“Yeah,” Isaac piped up from a few feet away, a wistful look in his eyes. “You were amazing.”

Melissa smiled, crossing her arms in front of herself, rubbing the cold appendages in the hopes of soothing the goosebumps on her skin. “Thanks.” She said, staring into Isaac's down-turned eyes and finding the kind of longing that Melissa had only ever seen in men twice his age who'd lost everything.

It was then that she remembered Isaac Lahey was an orphan—Just like Adrianna.

Another lost soul her son was trying to save. Another testament to her son's humanity. Another reason that assured Melissa she'd made the right choice in supporting Scott, even if he was a werewolf.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her arms were beginning to go numb, almost like the blood supply had been cut off by gravity, as she hung from the ceiling rafters in the Argent's basement. Beside her, Boyd didn't seem to be having the same problem as he towered over her, at least a foot taller. It allowed him to bend his elbows whenever he wanted.

Right then, there would have been nothing sweeter.

Erica's keen hearing picked up the footsteps before Boyd's did. She'd always been a better listener; probably an after-effect of her time spent alone, outcast by society because of her epilepsy.

“Shhhh,” Erica managed to mumble through the tape stuck across her lips in a wad that had caused sweat to collect on her upper-lip. With her eyes, Erica looked towards the staircase and then back to Boyd, attempting to communicate the threat as clearly as she could.

Someone was coming to disturb the slight amount of peace they'd found after all of the hunters had cleared out, leaving them alone.

Boyd nodded, seemingly understanding her meaning. He widened his stance, almost like he was preparing for a football tackle, but then winced as the electrical wires holding them steady, wrapped in duct tape, pinched and released a jolt through his body.

Erica felt it an instant later, buzzing all the way to her bones and making her frizzy blonde curls stand on end. She groaned, although she didn't have the strength to scream, before the footsteps stopped just outside the basement entrance.

Not more than a moment's pause occurred before the doorknob turned and Chris Argent walked down the steps, into the basement, not stopping until he stood in front of them, beside the desk holding various torture equipment Erica didn't know half of the functions for.

“You know,” He began calmly, his stare intense as he looked each of them in the eye. “My family's done this for a long time. Long enough to learn things like how a certain level of electrical current can keep you from transforming.” Chris shared.

One of his hands reached out and lightly traced around the dial of the generator Gerard had strapped to the wiring. Somehow, it controlled the voltage surging through their bodies. Erica knew because Gerard had tested it out— _many times_ —on them.

“At another level, you can't heal.” He went on to explain, ghosting his fingers around the dial, demonstrating a higher voltage. “A few amps higher, and no heightened strength.”

Erica released a whimper as her toes faltered, causing her shoulder to pop. For the millionth time, she wished the bite had also given her a few more inches of height. She could really use them, right now.

“That kind of scientific accuracy—” Chris pronounced, an emotion Erica wasn't familiar with shining in the depths of his eyes. “It makes you wonder where the line between the natural and the supernatural really exists.”

She turned her head, as far as her stiff muscles allowed her, and traded a confused glance with Boyd. So far, Chris hadn't tortured them at all, unless you could count him talking as a form of torture, which Erica wasn't willing to rule out yet. It made her wonder why he was down there, sharing his family's history and techniques, when they were supposed to be his enemy.

“It's when lines like that blur,” He told them, staring directly into Erica's frightened, suspicious, golden-brown eyes with conviction and compassion. “You sometimes find yourself surprised by which side you end up on.”

The familiar _click, tick, tack_ of the dial turning on the generator amp forced a shudder to run up Erica's spine. It was so similar to the sensation of an electrical current tingling through her veins and sparking fires all over her skin, that for a moment, Erica was convinced that Chris had set the level at it's highest and was intent on frying them both to death.

Only, as her shoulders rose in an effort to protect herself, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, Erica didn't feel any of the needle-like pinpricks of electricity she knew would come next.

As she cracked open her eyes, finding that Chris was still there, still watching them, she and Boyd looked at each other as they realized that the hunter had set them free.

She didn't smile. Not yet. It didn't feel real to her.

Not until Chris had walked away, the generator silent and as foreboding as ever, and no one came charging in to recapture them, did Erica allow herself a moment of joy.

Boyd regained his strength first, fingernails rapidly extending into claws and tearing through the tape and flimsy wire holding him upright. He cut through her restraints for her, even though Erica's own nails had begun to grow, the strength she'd taken for granted, flowing back through her body.

She nearly collapsed in a heap, so unused to holding her own weight. Erica had to lean on Boyd for support but eventually, she was able to stand by herself. It was then that they understood what had to be done next.

The window hidden behind the furnace in the corner of the room, small and clouded as it was, would be their best chance at escaping undetected. The only problem was that it was locked.

“Do you think you can break it?” Erica whispered to Boyd as he studied the heavy looking bolt. There was a slot in the middle of the lock meant for a key to fit inside. If all else failed, Erica supposed they could try and find the key.

Frowning in concentration, Boyd took a long moment to answer her, trying to pull the lock apart with only his hands. “I think so.” He grunted, straining his already tired body.

Boyd huffed and growled as he continued to pull the lock apart. After a few moments, Erica saw the metal begin to bend, tearing in places until it finally snapped in two.

Smiling, Erica found herself on the brink of hysteric giggling, but she forced her lips to remain shut. “Great.” Erica applauded Boyd, her hand reaching out to lay flat across his broad shoulder. “Let's get out of here before anyone notices.”

Excitement spiked in her heart, pleasantly replacing the pains and aches that were beginning to fade throughout her body. Her leg in particular, hurt. The injury Allison had inflicted on her still as fresh as ever.

Boyd hiked his foot up on the furnace, pulling himself onto the window ledge and carefully pushing the rusted hinges apart so that the glass gave way to a fresh breeze.

Erica closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She couldn't wait to run, to leave Beacon Hills in the dust. She'd always hated this town, now was her chance to move onto somewhere better. But just as Boyd had gotten one foot outside the window, Erica heard a loud gasp, followed by a painful moan and fluttering heartbeat.

She turned in the direction of the noises, biting her lip indecisively as she realized that Adrianna Argent, who they'd watched Gerard leave behind for dead, was still alive. She was crawling on her chest, using her hands to pull herself along the floor, out of the room she'd been dumped in and into the open.

“Boyd, stop.” Erica said, not daring to take her eyes off the girl that had helped to save her life before the bite, on the climbing wall. She'd never forgotten the debt. Now she might have a chance to repay it.

Sighing heavily, Boyd did as she asked, pausing where he was awkwardly sprawled between the window and the furnace to look over at her questioningly. “What is it?” He asked with more patience than Erica thought he'd have.

Finally tearing her gaze away, Erica bit her lip as she frowned at Boyd in distress. “We can't just leave her.” She pleaded, turning back around as Adrianna barely smothered a screech as she collapsed a few feet away, streaks of blackish blood staining the floor in her wake.

“You saw what they did to her.” She reminded Boyd as his expression softened just as much as Erica's had. “She's just as much their enemy as we are. If we leave her, she dies.”

Boyd appeared torn for a moment, his eyes flickering between Erica and Adrianna, over to the window and their certain freedom. After a moment, he nodded, jumping down from his place and joining Erica's side. “You're right.” He agreed grimly. “She's done it for us.”

Silently, Erica added that Isaac would never forgive them.

Together, they approached the fallen huntress. Without another word, Eric took hold of Adrianna's right arm while Boyd took the left. They heaved her to her feet, holding most of her weight, and moved back over to the window.

Adrianna's head lolled to the side. She didn't appear to have enough strength to right it herself. Her eyes were sharp and clear, so unlike the rest of her unresponsive body, and she stared at Erica as though she was looking into her soul.

The message was clear even though Adrianna's slurred words were not, barely louder than the sound of a raindrop splattering on the pavement.

“Thank you.”

It wasn't something Erica thought the huntress was accustomed to saying, which made it all the more sincere.

As the three of them climbed out of the basement, hobbling down the street as fast as they dared, following Adrianna's confusing, incoherent directions, Erica felt as though there was still hope to be had for them all.

They ended up dropping her on the front steps of a home that Erica remembered belonged to Scott McCall. Even as Boyd and she ran through the forest, freedom pumping through her veins, Erica could feel the huntresses' eyes on her.

Unlike the first few times they'd met, there was nothing but admiration and gratitude in Adrianna Argent's jade green eyes.

Erica ran faster, the ever-present weight on her chest diminishing as she understood that her debt had been payed. She would have two fewer Argents to worry about in the long days to come before her death.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Peter's fingers typed slowly over the keyboard, unfamiliar with the technology after his fairly long time being, well, _dead_. He could hear Derek sighing through his nostrils, his frustration as pungent as a bottle of formaldehyde. It made Peter's lips quirk in a partly nostalgic grin. Derek had always had a temper problem. It was what made him easier to manipulate.

“What is it?” He grumbled as Derek began to pace, not out of concern, but because the constant footsteps and the terrible smell where beginning to make Peter frustrated. Something no one, not even he, wanted to see.

Turning the swivel chair he'd recovered from a nearby dumpster so that he could see his nephew rolling his eyes, Peter crossed his arms in front of himself seriously. “Come on,” He encouraged rather roughly. “Spit it out.”

Lips rising in what seemed to be the beginnings of a snarl, Derek shook his head slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don't like this.” He admitted, finally standing still. “I don't like this at all.”

Peter ran the words through his mind feeling slightly offended. “Well, what's there to like about it?” He factually stated. “The Argents are hunting us down, your teenage heroes have been scattered,—what remains of them are either confused as hell or scared out of their minds, both rather useless traits—we haven't located Lydia or Stiles, and Jackson's turning into that... _thing_.” He pointed to the screen behind him. The truth neither of them wanted to accept.

“Thanks.” Derek sarcastically smiled, the expression wearing away in a moment as he continued to stare at the scaly winged creature which, according to Peter's research, was the Kanima's alpha form.

Sitting back in the chair, Peter watched as Derek continued to pace, crossing and them uncrossing his arms, entirely uncertain of what he wanted to do. And then, Peter could see the choice being made as Derek came to a stop, his eyebrows creased together.

“No,” Peter held up his hands, waving them in the air to attract his nephew's attention. “Don't do what you're thinking of doing. Trust me, it won't work.” He assured, hoping beyond hope that Derek listened to him for the first time in years.

The slight shake of his head and firm set of his jaw told Peter otherwise. “Derek, we need Lydia.” He reminded him, standing up to follow behind his nephew as he stomped out of their once grandiose home.

A whiff of anger caught in Peter's nostrils as his nephew whirled around to face him, his hands clenched into tight fists. “There's no time for that!” He shouted, sounding much younger than he looked.

His lips turned upwards in condescension. “That's the problem.” Peter tried to explain, a frustrated laugh catching in his throat. “We're rushing. We're moving too fast. And while everybody knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard's cross-hairs.”

Derek was still battling with himself as Peter's words washed over him. He knew from experience that his nephew was considering unleashing the wolf within him, the monster, as he tried to deal with a new and terrifying threat that none of them were prepared for. There was only a slight chance that Peter could get through to him with just words, but something small was better than nothing.

And he really wasn't up for another round as a punching bag.

“If I get the chance to kill Jackson,” Derek told him, a grim mood overtaking his words and sealing his doom. “I'm taking it.”

Peter supposed that he should have been happy as his nephew walked out of the room, intent on discovering his true powers as an alpha, but he wasn't. He was worried, as unusual as the sensation made him feel, that Derek would lose himself before he could have a prospect at redemption.

And Peter knew all about being lost.

It wasn't as fun as he'd made it out to be.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The sun was yet to make it's appearance in the night sky, and although Chris knew there wouldn't be daylight for some time, he hoped that some light could be shed on his dire situation. Leaving behind his training, his family—or what remained of it—had been harder than he'd thought it would be.

Streetlights shone down on the pavement, guiding Chris down the long, winding roads towards his destination. He knew where he was going and he knew why he was going there, but that didn't mean that he fully understood the motions he'd been forced to take.

Betraying the code felt like insulting everything he'd ever held in high respect. It felt like he was rebelling from his parents or running away from his life like some unstable teenager.

Chris had to remind himself of the truth. He was doing this for the kids, for Allison and Adrianna. He had to save them, to stop the madness his father was stirring up, before it was too late. Before another member of his family died.

Pulling up into the hospital's parking lot, which was deserted save for a few staff vehicles, Chris stopped the car as his headlights bathed over two figures carrying a large, black bag. He found his lips pulling upward, just a fraction, as he stepped out of the car to regard Scott and Isaac.

They appeared frightened; the bag—which couldn't have held anything other than a dead body inside it—sliding to the floor as both betas looked between each other, wide-eyed, before staring back at him.

“You're alone.” Scott was the first to speak, his observation reminding Chris of which side he had chosen and what it meant for him.

He nodded, the nearly self-deprecating smile vanishing from his lips as he made his way to the front of the car. “More than you know.” He agreed somberly.

Walking away from the body bag, Isaac following dutifully, Scott frowned as he neared Chris, holding up a hand to block his eyes as the car's lights shone brightly over them both.

“Where's Adrianna?” Isaac interrupted the words sitting on the tip of Scott's tongue, leaning down to get a better look at the inside of Chris' car, which was empty.

Chris felt a dagger of fear stab his heart as he shook his head, confused. “She's not here.” He told them. “I thought she was with you.”

Scott's brows rose in surprise as he turned to Isaac, who appeared to be even more troubled than before. “That's not good.” The curly haired beta mumbled despondently as he worried at his lip.

“If you're not here for her,” Scott wondered as he returned his sight to Chris. “Who are you here for? What do you want?” Scott was already learning to get down to the hard questions, first.

Beneath the panic in his blood, Chris found that his respect for Scott was rapidly growing. He was the young, naive child, floundering in a world of killers and monsters, no longer. Now, he seemed to accept the danger. He looked like he might just be prepared for what Gerard probably had planned.

Setting aside the problem with Adrianna for the time being, knowing that the young woman could very easily take care of herself without their help—and that she often preferred it that way—Chris drew himself up taller and tried to figure out a way to tell the two beta's the reason behind his appearance.

“We don't have much in common, Scott.” Chris began. Loosening his hands by his sides so that they didn't clench into fists, Chris felt a cold, poisonous hatred for his father and what he'd done, sliding through his veins. “But at the moment, we have a common enemy.” He finished, his voice feeling strained.

Scott turned slightly to glance over his right shoulder, staring at his friend and then looking back at the body bag they'd left a few few feet away for a moment before he faced Chris again. “That's why I'm trying to get him out of here.” He shared.

Chris shook his head, breathing deeply as he finished making an irreversible choice he'd been leaning towards for weeks, now. “I didn't mean Jackson.” He stated icily, and by the way Scott's head tilted to the side, he seemed to know what Chris was hinting at.

Strengthening his resolve, Allison's face clear in his mind, Chris voiced his thoughts out loud for the first time since his wife's death. “Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head,” He began steadily, clearing his throat as he continued. “The same way he did with Kate.”

His sister's name stirred up all kinds of emotional bruises within him, but he carried on despite the constriction in his chest. _For Allison. For Adrianna. For Victoria. For Kate._ He chanted to himself, gathering the strength he needed to admit his failure.

“I'm losing her.” Chris' voice nearly cracked but he held it steady as he met eyes with Scott, finding the same amounts of despair and love for his daughter as he felt himself. “And I know you're losing her, too.” He added, blinking heavily as water collected in his eyes.

Scott was silent as he stared at Chris. His shoulders were widely set, his feet firmly planted in the ground. There was a chance that Chris had misjudged him, but he knew for certain that his daughter had not. There was a reason she'd fallen in love with him, and stayed in love, even after discovering what he was.

Deep down in his heart, Scott McCall was an entirely good person. It was the reason Chris had been so frightened when Allison had begun dating him in secret.

“You're right.” Scott eventually told him, his words strong and filled with meaning. “So can you trust me to fix this?” He asked Chris, gesturing behind him, at Jackson Whittemore's dead body.

Chris found that his throat was too tight to allow him to speak, so he simply nodded. He could only remember one other time that he'd been rendered speechless for something that was good. The day his daughter had been born.

“Then can you let us go?” Scott hopefully wondered, although there was doubt wavering in his tone.

“No.” Chris informed him resolutely, stepping back so that he was nearly leaning against the hood of his SUV. “My car is faster.”

Scott grinned, some of his good-hearted innocence shining through again as he and Isaac picked up the body bag and lugged it to the back of Chris' car. When he drove away, two werewolves and a dead Kanima in his car, Chris realized that he'd past the point of no return.

Now, he could only pray that he'd done the right thing; that Allison wasn't beyond his help and Adrianna wasn't dead.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The ball of used toilet paper, which Stiles had rushed to give her after discovering he had no tissues, was wadded up in Lydia's fist as she carelessly wiped beneath her eyes, smudging the hard work that had gone into crafting her flawless mask with barely a thought.

Lydia didn't care.

The only thing on her mind, constant and as haunting as it was guilt-riddling, was Jackson's body lying on the lacrosse field as he took his last breath. She'd had his head cradled in her lap, so Lydia had known the moment his eyes stopped rolling beneath the lashes, that he was gone.

She couldn't forget the things she'd said to him, only minutes before his death. Her words had been barbed, meant to hurt him, to inflict all the damage he'd dished out to her over the past few months; to punish him for Peter Hale's actions.

“How much do you know about this stuff?” She distantly heard Stiles asking her, his hands folded uncomfortably in his lap as he looked anywhere but at her. He'd been doing that; avoiding her since she'd told him she wanted to help.

Lydia sniffled, pulling herself together despite how badly she wanted to fall apart. Now was not the time to dwell on things she couldn't change, no matter how much she wished that she could somehow apologize to Jackson.

“Pieces.” She admitted, her brows crinkling together as she recalled the lie she'd spouted effortlessly to the boy she loved. “Half of it's like a dream.” Lydia was ashamed to remember how proud she'd been, blinded by her determination to appear superior, claiming that she'd uncovered everything in the frightening world Peter had thrust her into, when the truth was far less impressive.

“Yeah, well, guess what?” Stiles suddenly became aggravated, standing up as his arms spread out by his sides. “The other half is like a freaking nightmare.”

Lydia shook her head, numbness spreading over the ache in her heart. “I don't care.” She allowed her thoughts to run, unchecked, for once. “I can help him.”

Somehow, Lydia knew she could save Jackson. Even though his heart had stopped beating, even though she'd seen with her own eyes, the way his chest had suddenly gone still, she knew as surely as the sun shone in the day and the moon in the night, that Jackson was not dead.

He couldn't be. At least, not in the way people normally died.

“See, that's the problem.” Stiles frustratingly went on, his voice taking on a strange sort of grit. “You—you don't care about getting hurt. But you know how I'll feel?” He shrilly demanded. “I'll be devastated.”

“And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind.” He told her, and that was the moment that Lydia saw it, just a brief flicker, as Stiles' eyes filled with tears and the veins on his neck grew taut with his passion.

He cared about her.

It wasn't just the high-school crush every boy got when they saw a pretty girl that was as hard to get as she was. No, it was more than that. He was invested in her, every single aspect of her existence, even the parts she tried desperately to hide. And somehow, he still liked her; maybe more than liked her.

“You see, death doesn't happen to you, Lydia.” Stiles ground out, his voice straining the higher it pitched until he was forced to near a whisper. “It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives now, without you in it.”

Lydia felt her terribly battered heart squeezing, tearing apart as Stiles' words dug beneath her flesh. She'd never taken him seriously, before. She'd always thought he was another selfish boy who was interested in her just because of the way she looked.

How wrong she'd been.

“Yeah, and look at my face.” He pointed, gesticulations becoming wilder and less controlled the longer Lydia stared at him with tears blurring her vision and a knife stabbing her lungs, stealing away her breath. “Come on, do you actually think this was meant to hurt me?”

He advanced on her, grabbing at her arms and shaking, like he was trying to physically push his words into her brain. Lydia stood up, but he didn't stop. She felt her hands beginning to tremble and her knees wobbled as she backed away. A frightened shriek slipped past her lips, sounding more like a choked sob.

As though the noise had slapped him across the face, Stiles staggered back, his eyes wide and horror-struck as he seemed to realize what he'd been doing. “Um,” He struggled to say, licking his lips nervously as Lydia found it impossible to stare at anything but her feet. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.” Lydia replied, mainly out of habit.

She was so tired of pretending to be this weak, stupid loser persona she'd crafted to try to fit in better. Jackson had been the first to see through the mirage and perhaps he hadn't even realized it, but his acceptance of those brief moments made Lydia feel more confident about her true self.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia summoned the courage to lift her chin, staring into Stiles' warm, brown eyes which seeped his sorrow and guilt. Her teeth clenched together as her hands clenched into fists.

Instead of giving up and walking away, like the pathetic false Lydia would have, the real Lydia—the gritty, unpolished mess that she'd always hidden with great diligence—stood tall against the challenge.

Glossy lips straightening into a thin line, the muscles unaccustomed to the expression, Lydia set aside her disarrayed state to save her first love from whatever fate awaited him. “I'll find him myself.” She promised Stiles, turning on her heel and marching away, her steps holding more purpose than they had in a long time.

“Lydia, hold on!” She heard Stiles calling out from behind her. “Wait!”

But Lydia had been waiting her whole life just to step one inch out from under the cover of her cleverly crafted disguise, which had quickly turned into a gilded prison.

She was tired of waiting and done hiding herself away.

 _I'm going to save Jackson Whittemore,_ Lydia Martin vowed as her fingers found the frigid key dangling down her shirt and clenched tightly around the metal, so hard it hurt, until she could feel her pulse in her palm.

Because love, in all it's various forms, was messy and cruel and not at all convenient, but Lydia was going to fight tooth and nail to keep hers alive...

_Even if it's the last thing I do._

**#-#-#-#-#**

The poison spread through her blood like a wildfire, devouring and scorching everything it touched until it felt like there was nothing but ashes left behind. Her vision, which had started out crystal clear, was beginning to fog as her body started to reject the wolf'sbane Gerard had injected her with.

She groaned on the concrete steps leading up to Scott McCall's house. Erica and Boyd had left only a moment before, but already, it felt like decades since they'd done her the extra favor of knocking on the door she didn't have a hope of reaching on her own.

Adrianna closed her eyes, sealing her lips tightly shut despite the intense urge that wracked her trembling spine to simply scream as long and as loud as her lungs would allow. She knew, somewhere in the recesses of her jumbled mind, that she'd only have to wait a few more moments before someone came out to answer the door.

Those moments felt like a lifetime.

But eventually, as Adrianna felt her muscles twitching in complaint and her bones grating on every nerve, her savior appeared.

“Adrianna?” Scott's mom asked, her expression one of surprise as the light shining past her from inside the house played tricks with Adrianna's distorted vision. “What are you doing here?” She wondered.

Smiling in relief, Adrianna tipped her head back, sweat collecting at the base of her neck and the top of her forehead as she tried to focus on Melissa. “It's, um—” Adrianna had trouble connecting her words together into a cohesive sentence. “It's a bit of a long story.”

Tilting her head to the side, Melissa McCall placed one hand on her hip as she seemed to assess Adrianna's state. Dully, Adrianna noticed that she was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn to the lacrosse championship game. She only had a moment to feel sorry about ruining what was probably the first chance Melissa had had to relax that night, before she felt a hot ache burn her throat as black bile spewed past her lips, cascading onto the ground in a splashing torrent.

“Oh my god,” Adrianna could hear Melissa utter in a panic as the older woman rushed to her side, a supporting hand clenching around Adrianna's trembling arm. “Are you alright? Oh my god. What's happening to you?” She screeched as the dark pitch continued to leak out of Adrianna's nostrils and eyes, despite the cessation of vomit. 

Shaking her head, Adrianna groaned as her blood burned against her skin. She used the back of her hand to wipe away much of the poison her nose had expelled, but found that in a second, it had been replaced by the ever-flowing stream.

“Inside.” Adrianna hardly managed to spit out as she felt blood pooling in the back of her throat, demanding to be released again. “Get—inside.” She fracturedly stated, no longer able to hold back the tidal wave as she pitched forward and divulged more of her own sickly blood in choking heaves.

“Okay,” Melissa breathed, her hold over both of Adrianna's arms tightening as she pulled her to her unsteady feet. “I can do this. Let's do this.” Melissa chanted as they stumbled into the house.

The walls bent and shuddered, or perhaps it was just Adrianna's mind that did so, as they trekked through the large entrance. Looking down at her feet as they slowly moved, Adrianna frowned as her depth perception warped the floor so that it seemed she was stepping at least three meters down.

Her heart felt as though it was perpetually stuck in her throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe. As the sensation of Melissa's arm wrapped around her burning shoulder became tingly—nearing the threshold of real pain—Adrianna lost her footing, uncontrollable coughs tearing at her vocal chords.

“No, hang in there.” Melissa pleaded as they tilted to the left, the floor dipping towards them as she held up Adrianna's entire weight, alone. “Come on girl, I can't carry you by myself.”

In that instant, Adrianna wanted to give up. She wanted to forget about the false bravado she'd had everyone believe to be her natural state. She wanted to damn the code and leave Jackson to fend for himself against her grandfather. Adrianna wanted, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life, to be weak.

But she hadn't been raised that way.

She'd learned a long time ago, that weakness was just as dangerous as too much strength. Adrianna couldn't afford to go from one extreme, to the next.

With a heavy heart, Adrianna grit her teeth and welded her knees straight, so that the overpowering force of gravity which twisted her legs into useless, rubber limbs, no longer held such a devastating effect on her.

As Melissa sighed in her ear—either from the strain or out of relief, Adrianna didn't know—a familiar ache lit in her throat, causing her ear drums to buzz unpleasantly.

“Shhhh, it's okay.” Melissa suddenly spoke, her fingertips massaging Adrianna's shoulder as much as their awkward position allowed. “I know it hurts. I know.” And it was then that Adrianna realized the noise humming at the base of her hearing wasn't her eardrums shattering. It was a long, drawn out moan of pure, undiluted misery.

As hard as it was to stand, let alone walk, Adrianna found that it was impossible to shut her mouth and stop the childish bleating which somehow served to relieve some of her pain. Tears which rolled across her cheeks slowly, feeling sticky and hot, impeded her dismal vision and tasted acrid when they caught on her lips.

She gasped, her hand reaching out to trace the wall across from her as Melissa continued to steady her on her other side. The kitchen was in sight, only a few feet away now, but something bubbling in Adrianna's gut told her she'd never make it in time.

And, as Adrianna's feet tangled together, skewing her balance and collapsing her body, a scream ripping past her lips when her fragile tailbone collided with the floor, Adrianna realized that she absolutely hated it when she was right. Especially when it was bad news that she was right about, which, it almost always was.

“Oh no,” Melissa gasped, kneeling down by her side, her hands hovering inches away from Adrianna's skin, almost as though she was afraid of doing more harm than good. “Are you okay? Did you break something?”

Thought there was hardly any strength left in her, Adrianna managed to twist her head and raise one brow as she stared at Melissa incredulously. “Yeah, okay.” Scott's mother conceded, appearing more relaxed as she laughed, sounding only slightly hysterical. “That was a stupid question.”

Before the corners of Adrianna's lips could tilt upwards in the beginnings of a smile, heat flared from her toes to the bottom of her spine. It stayed in her mid-section for a minute as Adrianna winced, before crawling slowly upwards.

“Shit,” Adrianna cursed, her hands turning to fists as she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Something's happening to you, isn't it?” Melissa curiously demanded, the worry and fear returning to her pinched expression although there was a new calmness in her voice. “I'm no doctor but I've seen enough OD's run through the ER to know that you're body's rejecting foreign material—which I'm guessing is whatever this black stuff is.”

Her chest buckling without her consent, Adrianna barely managed to nod as she attempted to strangle her muscles into submission. “Okay, okay. Um, let me think.” Melissa frantically stuttered, reaching out to help Adrianna in her efforts to fight off the convulsions which threatened to overtake her, again.

“In an overdose, the only way to save the patient is to find a way to counter-act the drug responsible.” Melissa sounded as though she was talking to herself, slipping into a mode Adrianna assumed had something to do with her job as a nurse, but which was eerily similar to the focus of a trained hunter. “Unfortunately, I think it's safe to say this isn't any ordinary overdose. I don't have any of the right medical tools here with me, so even if I knew what I was dealing with, I wouldn't be able to administer a treatment.”

There was a long stretch of silence as Melissa's eyes darkened with understanding. In that moment, Adrianna felt her grasp on reality slipping. Every time she blinked, kneeling over her—instead of the kind but terrified face of Melissa McCall—was her mother's stormy expression.

“Mom?” Adrianna couldn't help asking, her voice splintering with emotion. “Mom, is that you?”

Adrianna felt real tears pool in her eyes, leaking past her lashes and washing away some of the tar coating her face. She shook her head in an attempt to push away what her mind distantly knew to be a hallucination, but it was no use.

Kate Argent remained where she was, her hollow green eyes staring deep into Adrianna's, four long, bloody gashes cutting through the skin of her neck. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as her matted blonde hair swept forward to cover the wounds.

“Why did you come here?” Her mother questioned, eyes narrowed hatefully. “There's nothing here for you, nothing that can save you. Why did you come?” Kate's hands took hold of Adrianna's paralyzed shoulders, shaking harshly as mania stuck to her words. “Tell me! Why did you choose this place? Why here?”

Fear stabbed Adrianna's heart like a million sharpened icicles. She pulled back, swatting away Kate's hands as she began to hyperventilate. “I came because of you,” She croaked heavily, acidic bile rising in her constricting throat. “To save you. To avenge you. To make you proud. That's all I ever wanted.”

Kate pulled back, her brows furrowing in confusion, and Adrianna used the distance to pull her knees up to her chest, curling up like she'd done as a frightened child those first few years of her existence, shutting out the frightening madness that was on the verge of consuming her.

Her hands trembled and her entire body ached fiercely as Adrianna did the only thing that made sense and began to weep like she'd never before allowed herself to. Her chest shook and despite the terrible agony her broken ribs dealt out, Adrianna found that she couldn't stop.

Her eyes were tightly shut as she pressed her hands over the lids until she thought the orbs were going to disappear in their sockets. She craved the pain, now. It anchored her to reality and reminded her of who she was.

Slowly, like mist evaporating on contact with the sun's rays, her mother vanished from Adrianna's mind, the angry words of Kate Argent being replaced by a soothing, yet equally insistent voice which Adrianna recognized as Melissa McCall.

“Sweetie, I'm not your mother.” Melissa hesitantly told her, one hand clutching at Adrianna's shoulder as the other pulled back the curtain of dark, curly hair which was half-hanging in her face. “Are you with me?” She gently asked Adrianna. “Because whatever's happening to you, it's getting worse.”

“I'm dying.” Adrianna said in a voice far too dry and vulnerable for her comfort. “That's what's happening to me. _I'm dying_.” As she spoke the words out loud, admitting her fate, Adrianna felt a longing spark to life within her.

“I don't want to die,” She complained shrilly, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever been. “Not yet. Not like this.” All those close-calls she'd had with death over the years, all those times she'd been stupidly reckless, risking her life for a cause she didn't even believe in, and she'd done it all for one simple reason.

Because, for most of her cursed life, Adrianna Argent had had nothing to live _for._

Now, things were different. She had people depending on her; innocent people that hadn't been prepared to defend themselves against the world they'd stumbled into. And it wasn't just the people she had to protect, that made her yearn for another chance at life. She had allies now, friends.

Isaac Lahey still didn't know how much she cared about him. She couldn't die with that on her chest, never having been said out loud.

Jackson Whittemore was in way over his head, trapped within the Kanima—a creature born out of the trauma his parent's deaths had inflicted upon him. She couldn't die without saving him, without giving him the second chance she'd been denied.

Scott McCall was far too innocent to survive among the beasts and monsters. Without Adrianna's help, he wouldn't be able to avoid the traps and snares laid out on his path that only another monster would think to look for.

Stiles was human. As far as Adrianna was concerned, he needed all the help he could get.

Lydia would be fine on her own—probably. She was smart and resilient. And yet, Adrianna knew that the years of confusion to come for her would be greatly lessened if the two of them could work together, unraveling the mystery of death together.

She still had to apologize to Derek, she still had to prove that she was better than Kate. As much as it pained her to even think about, Adrianna owed him the truth; the real reason her mother had murdered his family.

And Allison, she couldn't forget Allison. Her dear cousin had fallen for the same ploy that had kept Adrianna loyal to Gerard for years. If she died, the twisted snake implanted in Allison's mind would never be killed, and if she wasn't stopped in time, Allison would regret her actions for the rest of her life.

Lastly, there was Adrianna herself.

She couldn't die without ever having lived. It wasn't fair.

“Then tell me how to save you.” Melissa urged, her tightened jaw and desperate eyes telling Adrianna that there wasn't a moment to spare even as Adrianna's mind struggled to catch up to the here and now. “Tell me why you came here, of all places. There must have been a reason. You must have had some sort of plan.”

And then, with great effort, the cobwebs shook off her brain, releasing her thoughts as it all came back to her. She did have a plan; she and Scott. They were going to outsmart Gerard and beat him at his own game.

“Yes,” She nodded, regaining some clarity in her tone, although the ever-present pain nibbling away at her soul felt as though it had increased ten-fold. “I had a plan. I knew this would happen.”

“Okay,” Melissa eagerly listened, an uncertain smile painting her lips. “What was it?”

Before Adrianna could think of a way to explain herself, a heavy, ominous darkness exploded from within her chest, chewing up her insides and spitting them back out again, mangled and malformed.

She gasped, contorting awkwardly as her upper body slid to the floor along with her legs and lower torso. “No!” Adrianna shouted through clenched teeth as she fought against the violent shakes spasming along her body. “It can't happen now. I don't have time.”

Wrestling against herself, Adrianna felt cold ice seep into her heart, spreading to her veins and then her muscles, eventually reaching the skin over top and forcing the tiny hairs all over her body to stand on end. Without her consent, her powers fired up and the tiles beneath her hands began to disintegrate.

“Uh, what's going on? I thought you were human?” Melissa stood back, shocked as Adrianna's fingers began to sink through the once solid floor. “Is this normal? It doesn't look normal.” She observed, rocking back on her ankles nervously.

Adrianna's breathing became laboured as the liquid sloshing in her lungs began to fill up once more, what had been painfully drained in vomit and tears, returning as her own body worked against her.

“The table at the front entrance.” She rasped, feeling as though she were lying on pins and needles, the feeling rapidly fading from her extremities as the wolf'sbane began to eat away her nerve-endings, stealing away the pain she'd been using as an anchor. “There's a syringe, yellow liquid inside. Get it, bring it here.” Adrianna instructed, her back arching as she tried to steal a full breath of air, but finding that it didn't help at all.

The battle she fought, the tar which drowned her, was on the inside. Adrianna couldn't escape it unless she could get her hands on the precious syringe she'd stored away in Scott's house in case this very situation befell her.

“The table?” Melissa frowned as she stood up. “There's no syringe in my table.”

“Trust me,” Adrianna laughed shrilly. “It's there.”

Melissa knew just as well as Adrianna did, that there was no time to explain; she was seconds away from succumbing to the poison. Nodding, Melissa hurried away. She glanced over her shoulder once before disappearing through the corridor they'd come.

As the seconds ticked by, Adrianna cursed herself for allowing the gradual poisoning Gerard had inflicted upon her to go on for so long. Perhaps if she'd found out a few weeks earlier, she would have been able to fight off the coldness sinking in her veins and the alluring echoes of death as her heart began to slow.

Even so, Adrianna knew that the fairy-tale playing out in her disabled mind would have never had a chance against the conniving genius of her grandfather. Her death had been a long time coming. The large dose of wolf'sbane Gerard had given her only a few minutes ago had only been the catalyst of her dismal fate.

“Who am I kidding?” She laughed, a gurgle bubbling in her throat. “He's always wanted me dead. It was only a matter of time before he found out a way to do it without getting his hands dirty.”

Adrianna relished in the fact that, despite his best efforts, Gerard had been forced to kill her himself—with his own two hands—so close, she'd been able to see the way his eyes narrowed with hatred and contempt.

When Melissa returned, the six inch syringe in hand, Adrianna was on the verge of falling into the deep blackness pressing down on her from all sides. The scalding pain was gone, replaced only by a lightheaded dizziness that was much more frightening.

“Okay, what do I do now?” Melissa sought out instructions as Adrianna blinked up at her, blearily. “What's this thing for? Where do I put it?”

Lifting her arm was as easy as breathing normally was—when she wasn't choking on her own blood—and as hard as battling a Nemean Lion with no weapons, but with a pace so slow time seemed to stand still, Adrianna managed to place her hand against the center of her chest, drawing a shaky 'X' with her finger.

“Here.” She told Melissa, and that one word stole all the air she'd worked so hard to keep inside her useless lungs.

“There?” Melissa replied, her brows rising as she looked between the very long pointed tip of the syringe and back at the point on Adrianna's chest that her hand covered. “Are you sure?” She pressed, her lips rolling together.

“Here.” Adrianna affirmed in a throaty growl. If she'd had more air, she probably would have screamed out in frustration as black spots colored her vision. She was not going to die because of a communication issue. Adrianna wouldn't allow it.

Pointing with as much fervor as she could collect, her finger jamming into her ribs and inducing the first amount of pain she'd felt since the wolf'sbane had migrated to her lungs, suffusing her spine and paralyzing her where she lay, Adrianna's lips formed each word carefully.

If they were to be her last, she had to make sure Melissa could understand them.

_“In my heart.”_

There was just enough time for Adrianna to see Melissa's chin nodding along to her message, the needle steadily descending over her chest, before the cold, unfeeling arms of oblivion granted her a wish she no longer cared for.

On the other side, her father waited for her.

Her mother was not where she should have been, by his side.

Peter Hale was not where he should have been, in the fields of punishment.

Nothing was as it should have been—as Adrianna had expected it to be—as she felt an immense throbbing, aching torment blossom inside her heart, forcing the immobile organ into wonderful, beating movement.

And as she felt herself waking up, the godly nectar that had been inside the syringe filling up each of her cells and burning with the heat of a supernova, Adrianna felt her father's hands reach out and cover her eyes.

Thanatos blinded her, the truth of her world and the visions of death vanishing as though they'd never been there in the first place. As though she'd never learned of her mother's true fate, at all.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The longer Lydia was gone, the larger Stiles felt the hole in his chest becoming. He should never have yelled at her. More than that, he should never have denied her the truth.

Scott had been right. Trust was the real issue beneath the divide separating them all—hunters and werewolves.

If he'd only trusted Lydia to handle herself, as she'd obviously been doing—unbeknownst to him—since Peter's bite at the winter formal, maybe Lydia would still be there, safe. Maybe he'd still have a chance.

But Stiles knew, possibly better than anyone, that the clock could not be turned back. Mistakes could not me unmade. Tragedies could not be avoided. It didn't matter how much he thought about it and cursed himself out for his stupidity, nothing could bring Lydia back to where she'd been, asking for help from him, of all people.

“She left, huh?” His father asked, peeking his head in through the half-open door to Stiles' bedroom. Lydia must have left it open when she left. He hadn't even realized that he'd forgotten to close it.

“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his short hair, feeling each follicle with the tips of his fingers. Maybe he'd let it grow out. It was about time he stopped looking like the buzz-cut, nerdy, overly-talkative, third wheel that he was.

“So,” His father uncomfortably continued, sensing Stiles' sour mood from a mile away, but choosing to enter into the room anyway. “Is there, uh, anything there?”

Stiles didn't feel the need to sugar-coat the truth. Not when he felt this awful. “No.” He bluntly admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose as his father sat down across from him. “No, she's in love with someone else.”

“Ah,” His dad mumbled, understanding coloring his tone in a more delicate light than it usual was. “Listen—I know that getting beaten up, and with what happened to Jackson, has got you pretty shaken—but be happy about one thing.” He told him, leaving the sentence to hang so that Stiles was forced to open his eyes and look at his father.

“The game.” His father grinned, clapping Stiles' shoulder supportively. “You were amazing.” He praised, but the words felt empty to Stiles. Maybe he wanted them to be. He didn't deserve to be commended for his role as a pawn.

Even as he thought so, Stiles forced a smile to his lips. “Thanks, dad.” He dutifully replied, trying to brush away the compliment as subtly as he could.

“No, I mean it.” His father insisted, proving once more that Stiles didn't deserve to have such a kind, forgiving, understanding dad. Not when he'd failed when it counted most.

“Look, it was pretty much over. And then you got the ball, and you started running.” Stiles' dad explained, his hands spreading wide with emotion. “You scored, and the tide just turned. And you scored again and again.” He laughed, leaning forward so that Stiles was forced to acknowledge his words. “You weren't just MVP of the game. You were a hero.”

Stiles licked his lips and sat back in his chair. “No,” He denied, thinking about Scott and Isaac, who were still out there trying to fix a problem way bigger than them. He remembered Lydia, who barely knew what she was getting into; nonetheless, she charged into the middle of the fray to save the boy she loved, not a care given to her own well-being. Even Adrianna and Derek—as misguided as they could be—were probably still doing more than him. “I'm not a hero, dad.”

His father considered his words, going silent for a moment as he stood up, drawing Stiles' attention over to him. “You were last night.” He reminded him, staring deep into his eyes so that Stiles could see just how convinced he was of the fact.

Shaking his head, the backs of his eyes stinging badly, Stiles curled his hands into fists beneath the desk. “I'm not a hero.” He repeated stubbornly after his father had left.

But the sliver of hope had been chipped away inside him. What was a hero, other than a person brave enough to defy all odds, for what they believed? The outside didn't matter, when it came down to it. A hero didn't have to be strong, smart, popular, or super-human.

A hero could be anyone.

Even Stiles could be a hero, if he had the courage to trust himself just long enough to find out what kind of stuff he was made of, on the _inside_.

**#-#-#-#-#**

It was scary enough that Adrianna had literally started to glow, her skin reaching oven-like temperature, moments after Melissa had injected the entire syringe's contents into her heart. The fact that she was now on her feet, moving around the house like she'd drank twenty cups of coffee and then broken into the secret stash of candy bars Melissa kept above the fridge, was just plain disturbing.

“What are you looking for?” Melissa asked for what felt like the millionth time as the hyperactive girl slammed another drawer closed, the once carefully stacked papers and receipts crumpled into a bunch.

“It's important. Seriously, like, really important.” Adrianna didn't turn as she blurted the words at impressive speed, her pronunciation only slightly slurred. “The Physiologus is the key to understanding Jackson's predicament. Without it, we're all flying blind.”

Melissa didn't even have time to wonder how Adrianna knew about what was happening to Jackson, without being present during or after his death, before the young girl slammed another drawer closed in Melissa's once organized filing cabinet, moving onto the night tables.

“Wait, just a second.” She tried to intercede, stepping in front of Adrianna's rapid trajectory, only for the girl to side-step out of her way, continuing like nothing had happened. “Come on, let's just talk like normal people for once. Tell me what you're looking for. Maybe I can help.” Melissa negotiated.

Waving a hand behind her dismissively, Adrianna didn't face Melissa as she scanned through the stack of medical papers that Melissa often kept by her bedside, in case she couldn't sleep. “It would take too long to explain it. I've only got a few more hours before my grandfather enacts the final phase of his plan.” Adrianna informed her, throwing a fashion magazine across the room haphazardly. “If I haven't figured out the exact threat Jackson poses to us by then, it's safe to say that whatever superiority Scott and I have gained through working together, will be insignificant in comparison to how unprepared we'll be.”

“Okay, hang on a minute.” Melissa raised her hand, her curly hair puffing outwards from her head as she stiffly shook her chin in dismay. “You're working—and have been working—together with Scott?” She demanded, her eyes widening as Adrianna merely shrugged, her back still turned. “And you didn't think it would be a good idea to let me in on this information, _why_?”

“The more you knew, the more danger you'd be in.” Adrianna had the sense to face Melissa, a stoicism in her gaze that translated more wisdom than any sixteen-year-old should have had. “Scott and I agreed that it would be in your best interest, in everyone's best interests, if the knowledge of our alliance was kept hidden.”

“So you're telling me that no one knows.” Melissa muttered to herself, a sudden respect tinging in the soup of disbelief and slight betrayal that she was feeling.

Adrianna looked away from Melissa for a moment, something dark filling her expressive eyes, before she smiled unfeelingly and raised her brows in a placating gesture. “Basically.” She agreed, abandoning her perusal of the night tables in favor of marching past Melissa to the long dresser, which had a mirror balancing over top.

The reality of Adrianna's situation took a moment to sink into Melissa's mind. She'd known the girl had been independent, but finding out that she had literally been on her own against the deadly mayhem going around Beacon Hills—save for whatever help Scott had been able to give her—brought a new perspective to the girl's often standoffish attitude.

“I didn't realize.” Melissa whispered under her breath, her arms crossed over her chest as her heart ached for the girl with no mother. “Have you always worked like this?” She couldn't help wondering, thinking of the dangers Adrianna could have faced in order to gain the knowledge she had now. What kind of monsters had she fought in her lifetime? How had she done it alone?

It wasn't until Adrianna's spine grew rigid, her movements ceasing entirely, that Melissa knew the girl had heard her. “Yes.” She replied stiffly, a sudden chill in her tone as she set back the jewelry box she'd been examining.

There was no explanation, no detailed story of how she'd become so distant, or a terrible montage of her life's hardships. Adrianna wasn't that kind of girl, Melissa could tell. She kept to herself, ducking down her head until her goal was reached; whatever that goal happened to be. In a way, Adrianna reminded Melissa of herself when she'd had to shoulder the burden of becoming a single mother to Scott.

Clearing her throat, Melissa rolled her shoulders uncomfortably as she approached the silent girl. Obviously, her line of questioning had struck a nerve, despite her best attempts at being subtle.

“You know, I can understand why you'd like doing things on your own.” Melissa began hesitantly, making certain that she didn't repeat her earlier mistake. “When my husband and I divorced, I had to learn how to provide for Scott all on my own. I had to take out loans and go back to school.” She smiled, remembering how long it had taken to adjust to the absence of Scott's father.

“At first, it was hard. Really hard.” Melissa shared, her hip bumping against the dresser's edge. “But eventually, we adapted. And after I got out of school and started work, I think I even liked it.”

This time, when Adrianna's eyes met hers, they were closed off and guarded. Melissa felt a shiver rush up her spine as she realized how easily Adrianna had tucked away every ounce of her emotion. “What's your point?” She spat rather rudely.

If Melissa hadn't raised a teenage boy on her own, she wouldn't have been able to differentiate Adrianna's anger for the pain that it really was. Deep down, it seemed that Adrianna was just as torn-up and misguided as any teenager was, layering juxtaposing emotions over each other in the hopes that no one could decode the truth.

“My point,” She pronounced, her gaze never wavering as cracks began to shine through Adrianna's defenses. “Is that no matter how accustomed you become to not needing other people's help, sometimes, you've just got to suck up your pride and realize that you can only go on for so long, depending on yourself. It's only a matter of time before something snaps and your whole world—everything you've worked so hard to reach—slips through your fingers.”

Adrianna's throat bobbed as her forehead pinched. “I know that.” She told Melissa, sandpaper grating in her voice. “That's why I trusted Scott. That's why I came here and placed my life in your hands.”

“Oh, but sweetie, that doesn't count.” Melissa reached out and placed an uncertain hand over the girl's shoulder as Adrianna's eyes sharpened, nearing offense. When she didn't entirely pull away, instead shifting her shoulder slightly, as though uncomfortable, Melissa continued as delicately as she could. “On both counts, you had no choice. You had to trust me, or you'd die. And with Scott—although I don't know a whole lot about what's been going on—I'm guessing that you needed his strength and connections just as much as he needed your help.”

“When you work together with someone, when you trust someone with a burden that you can't carry,” She pressed further as Adrianna's lips puckered in concentration. “It has to be implicit. It has to be a decision made in your heart,” Melissa's hand hovered over Adrianna's chest, near the sight that the syringe had once been plunged through. “Otherwise you didn't choose at all.”

There were no tears blurring her eyes, no sniffles or wet smiles traded between them. Adrianna was calculative, cold as a marble statue, her pinched brows the only sign that she was giving Melissa's words any thought whatsoever.

“You're wrong.” She whispered after a long, tense silence. Her hair, which was still matted with the black, tar-like blood that had once leaked out of Adrianna's every pore, hung limply around her face, framing the pale skin and creating a ghost-like effect. “There's always a choice.” Adrianna insisted quietly, her stare becoming distant as she seemed to remember something.

Melissa stepped back, licking her lips as Adrianna's gaze returned to normal, piercing and predatory as ever. Most of the time, one of those glances could intimidate the hell out of Melissa. Now, was definitely one of those times.

“Okay, now that that's been covered—” She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the fear stuck in her trachea. “Why don't you tell me about what it is you're looking for. You never know, maybe I'll surprise you.”

The depth of their conversation fluttered away in an instant. Adrianna didn't seem to mind, in fact, she appeared relieved by the sudden topic change. “I'll try my best.” Adrianna assured her, stepping away from the long dresser so that she stood in the middle of Melissa's master bedroom. “The Physiologus is a catalog of my family's knowledge concerning the supernatural, collected over the centuries. In detail, it describes the various types of creatures the Argents have encountered face to face; their weaknesses and strengths, typical behavior, and the threat level they pose to humans and hunters alike.”

“Uh,” Melissa smiled, a breath of air slipping past her lips as she attempted to make sense of Adrianna's explanation. Most of it was far over her head, but what she did grasp, made her wonder if she even wanted to learn any more. “It's a catalog.” Melissa repeated, pressing her lips together as she debated telling Adrianna the truth.

“That's it, isn't it?” Adrianna said, surprising Melissa as there was not a drop of condescension in her tone, only a sense of tired expectance. “That's all you understood.”

“Well, not just that.” Melissa tried to excuse. “It's a monster catalog.” She simplified sheepishly, earning a grin from the suddenly weary Adrianna.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” Adrianna agreed, smiling. They both knew that there was more to it, that the vestiges of their brief conversation still rippled beneath the surface of their calm exteriors, but neither of them thought it necessary to bring that up.

As Melissa thought more and more about the book Adrianna was looking for, she remembered something that she'd once overheard Scott talking about to Stiles. They'd mentioned a record similar to the one Adrianna had tried to explain, but at the time, Melissa had assumed they'd been chatting about video games or something equally as nerdy. Now, she knew better.

“A monster catalog.” Melissa nodded to herself, tearing Adrianna's attention away from the pile of clothing she was sifting through in Melissa's closet. “I think I know what you're talking about.”

“Really?” Adrianna questioned, her head peeking out from between the sliding doors, yellow light from inside the closet illuminating her pale complexion eerily. “Have you seen it somewhere? Do you know who has it?”

“Better,” Melissa replied, her feet already carrying her out of her now messy room, down the hall, and inside Scott's bedroom. “I know where you can find it.” She finished as Adrianna stopped just behind her, following Melissa's stare towards the paper-strewn desk jammed to the side of Scott's room, nearly hidden behind the door.

They glanced at each other, cautious optimism rushing through their blood as they approached the disarray in the hopes of sifting through the mess to find one single USB with the catalog Melissa remembered Scott referring to as the _Bestiary,_ held within.

If Adrianna was right, it would be their only chance at stopping Gerard Argent from going through with whatever fiendish scheme he'd come up with. If he was responsible for controlling the monster Jackson had become, Melissa figured that he was far more threatening than his age implied.

Especially after she'd seen the way he treated Adrianna. How he'd tried to kill her unsympathetically, _twice_. And that was just what Melissa knew...

She shuddered to think about what he could have done over the seventy-something years of his life; of how much pain and loss he'd inflicted upon the broken, closed-off girl that was Adrianna Argent, who'd been forced to grow up long before her time.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Isaac felt more than slightly uncomfortable as he stood beside Scott and Chris, across from Derek. The distance between them was palpable as Derek righted himself out of the crouch he'd somersaulted into. The message was clear and blunt. He'd chosen a new alpha, a new pack. And it wasn't with Derek.

“I'm here for Jackson.” Chris reminded the stony-eyed alpha, who somehow seemed even more angry and disgruntled than usual. “Not you.”

Derek smiled, the action so foreign and potently sarcastic on his face that it looked garish. “Somehow,” He began, speaking for the first time since his grand entrance. “I don't find that very comforting.”

He glanced behind him, like he was waiting for someone else to join him, before he quickly turned back around, urgency in his tone as he commanded them, staring at the black body bag sitting by their feet which had finally gone still, “Get him inside.”

Isaac felt vulnerable as he kneeled down and lifted his end of the body bag, Scott carrying the opposite end. It wasn't because of Derek, or even due to the bubbling nerves in his stomach that told him things weren't going to end well. Isaac thought it might have been caused by the emptiness at his side, where a huntress in black should have been, but made sure not to dwell on that thought.

If he let himself, Isaac was sure that he'd become consumed in worry for Adrianna's safety. Not thinking about her seemed to work best to stave off the mind-numbing, heart-pounding concern he otherwise couldn't seem to push away.

“Where are they?” Scott asked once they'd entered the large warehouse that Derek had been using to train Isaac and the rest of his betas for the past few months, his words echoing off the tall, tin walls.

Without Isaac realizing it, Derek had moved forward so that he was leaning over Jackson's sealed body. His hand was inches away from the zipper which would open-up the body bag, before he registered Scott's question.

Frowning, Derek turned slightly so that only his upper body faced Scott. “Who?” He questioned, confused.

The cold dread in his stomach doubled as Isaac wondered what Derek was playing at. They'd made a plan—it wasn't the best of plans, but it wasn't the worst, either—and all of them had agreed to follow it. So why was Derek acting as though the plan didn't exist?

“Peter and Lydia.” Scott answered, his pinched expression telling Isaac that he was equally as suspicious about Derek's actions as Isaac was. “We talked about this, remember?” He tried to back-track.

Derek turned away, his fingers enclosing around the zipper beneath him. Isaac took a deep breath, catching a pungent smell that reminded him of salt and sweat. He had just enough time to realize that it was guilt, before the body bag came undone and Derek raised his clawed hand high in the air, ready to strike.

“Whoa, hold on a second.” Scott interjected, his voice rising with panic as he shuffled forward a few feet. “You said you knew how to save him.” He recalled, the sentence hanging in an unvoiced question.

Isaac looked to his left, his eyes finding Chris Argent, who stood tall and steady. The older man's hand was the only thing that betrayed his wariness, twitching by his side in a way Adrianna's own fingers always did whenever she was about to draw her knives. The comparison stabbed Isaac's heart with crippling anxiety.

 _Where is she?_ He asked himself. Adrianna had always been there when it counted, fighting through the thickest situations, undaunted. Now, she was nowhere to be found. A brief flash of doubt crossed his mind as the unthinkable option he'd been so afraid of giving a name sprouted through his tangled thoughts.

What if she'd left?

What if she'd abandoned them?

What if she'd abandoned him?

Derek's resonating voice shook Isaac from his internal conflict. “We're past that.” He said in response to Scott's attempts to bring the alpha back to reason.

Slowly, as though he really didn't want to do it, Derek's hand lowered to Jackson's neck. His feet were planted on either side of the body bag so there was no chance his balance would falter, even if his resolve did.

Despite the fact that there was only a slight chance he could get through to Derek, Isaac knew right then that he had to try.

“Come on, Derek.” Isaac found himself saying as the pressing ache on his throat demanded to be released. “You know this isn't right. Can't you feel it? Killing Jackson isn't the answer.”

Beside him, Scott latched onto the momentum Isaac had started, a brief flicker of uncertainty tearing across Derek's stormy blue eyes. “Isaac's right. We can still save him.” He pressed, an urgent quiver to his tone. “What about—” He began to think, only to be cut off mid-sentence by Derek.

“Think about it, Scott.” The alpha growled, whatever small amount of doubt that Isaac had been able to plant, withering away under the layer of intense, burning rage. “Gerard controls him now.”

“He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog.” Derek pointed out brashly, no apparent remorse or pity in his tone. “And he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful.”

Isaac didn't know what to believe. On one hand, he knew what Gerard was capable of—had felt the stinging end of the man's wrath on his own flesh—but on the other was a human life, as arrogant and nasty as Jackson's life had been, that depended on their judgment to survive.

It wasn't right to make a decision like that based on what could happen. Not when Isaac didn't know all the facts that Derek seemed to have discovered. Apparently, Peter's version of the Argent bestiary had helped more than anyone could have imagined.

“No,” Chris spoke up for the first time since they'd stepped foot in the warehouse, his words clipped and his eyes narrowed. “No, he wouldn't do that.” Shaking his head, Isaac wondered if Chris had known Gerard as well as the rest of them had come to; if he could still predict Gerard's actions or if he was clinging to the shattered remains of a man that no longer existed.

“If Jackson's a dog,” Chris continued, using Derek's own metaphor to further his point. “He's turning rabid, and my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live.” He convincingly told them.

“Of course not.” A voice boomed from the other end of the warehouse, interrupting the silent deliberation that had fallen upon them. “Anything that out of control, is better off dead.”

Striding through the plastic curtain separating the side room—which Isaac remembered held heavy machinery—and the main warehouse, Gerard Argent grinned as he regarded the four of them, his gaze lingering over Chris for a moment before sliding down to the open body bag which Jackson's upper body stuck out of.

“But,” The elder hunter smiled, holding himself upright so that he appeared much younger than he had before, as the gel casing around Jackson's half-transformed body began to melt away. “Under the right circumstances,” He told them, greed and blood-lust shining in his eyes.

“ _Exceptions_ can be made.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Found it!” Melissa cried triumphantly, a black computer storage chip held high between her her fingers as she shuffled forward across the stacks of crumpled paper and never before seen homework that Adrianna and she had been combing through for the past half hour.

“Thank goodness,” Adrianna sighed, pushing away a manila folder of failed grades she'd found hidden on the underside of Scott's desk. “Another minute of reading Scott's seventh grade history projects and I think I might just go blind.”

Melissa nodded her head as she reached over to the side, pulling down the laptop they'd pushed onto Scott's bed and situating the sleek computer onto her lap. “I can't say that I blame you.” Melissa agreed as she pushed open the lid and slotted the hard drive into a hole on the side of the computer.

A file popped up on the screen which Melissa clicked on, opening an expanded view of the digital Physiologus. Adrianna leaned forward to get a better look at the familiar layout and introduction of the book. Once, it had been a real, hardcover book that Adrianna could read without the uneasy trepidation of possibly attracting monster activity, bubbling in her gut.

“What is this?” Melissa wondered, scrolling down page after page of the archaic Latin script. “How is this helpful? It's not even in English.”

“It'll help, don't worry.” Adrianna assured her, narrowing her eyes as the alphabetized records flashed past, some of the illustrations depicting creatures that Adrianna had faced in person. “Keep going until you reach ' _K'_.” She told Melissa distractedly as a particularly long segment on a monster referred to only as _The Beast_ , sped past.

“Okay, I can do that.” Melissa breathed, the pages blurring past at a steady pace. “Just as long as you know how to read this thing, I can do that.” She added, glancing over her shoulder at Adrianna doubtfully.

“Trust me,” Adrianna felt one of her signature smirks pulling the corner of her pale lips upwards. “If there's one thing I actually can read, it's Latin.”

Melissa frowned in confusion but didn't ask any more questions as Adrianna continued to stare at the screen over her shoulder. “Dyslexic.” Adrianna felt the need to explain a moment later, even though the topic had long since been dropped. “I'm dyslexic.”

“Really?” Melissa commented, a note of caution in her words. “Well, you had me fooled.”

For some reason, there was a pressing desire in Adrianna's chest to blurt out that she was ADHD as well, and that she was actually much smarter than her dismal grades suggested. It was like she wanted to atone for the argument they'd had; to prove that her life hadn't been an entirely autonomous journey. Licking her chapped lips, Adrianna pushed away the feeling as she concentrated on the Physiologus.

“There, stop there.” Adrianna lurched forward, her finger jamming into the screen directly beneath the title which read, _'Kanima: Majorum et Inferioris',_ with an illustration directly beneath it portraying the scaled creature she'd seen Jackson transform into. “That's it. That's the one.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Melissa muttered, her head bobbing along to Adrianna's words. “Whatever that thing is, it is definitely the same lizard-creature that Gerard used to intimidate Scott.”

“Mhmm,” Adrianna non-committedly mumbled, her eyes scanning across the page, absorbing the valuable information. “The Kanima's a weapon of vengeance.” She read out loud, skimming past the sections that she already knew. “It seeks a master but only kills murderers.”

“Scroll down.” She instructed Melissa, who was watching in fascination as Adrianna read.

Somehow, the facts weren't adding up. The Physiologus said that the Kanima could only kill people who had already killed, themselves. So why had Matt been able to use the bond between Master and Monster—regardless of how strong it had become—to implement the Kanima's vengeance in a way that contradicted it's very purpose?

It simply wasn't possible.

And yet, Adrianna had seen it with her own eyes. She could still hear it's victims crying out, their screams and useless tears echoing through her mind, haunting her dreams.

It wasn't like the Kanima had been under Matt's total control. The incident with the mother and child had proven that much. Jackson was still inside the Kanima; he'd fought off Matt's commands when they'd conflicted with a deeply ingrained value of his, so that meant that Jackson was also possibly battling against Gerard's plans, in that very moment.

“A Kanima is loyal to it's master until the equilibrium is altered.” Adrianna translated, her theories regarding Jackson's non-compliance solidifying as the next page came into view. “If the scales are tipped too far, _'imperium et converso'_ —which roughly translates to—the roles reverse.” Adrianna sat back, blinking harshly as her mind wrapped around the puzzling words.

“What does that mean?” Melissa hesitantly questioned, her brows pinched worriedly as she looked upon Adrianna's frazzled state.

Breathing in deeply, Adrianna bit her bottom lip as she collected her thoughts, before replying. “I think,” She began cautiously, threading her fingers together. “It means that the servant becomes the master and the master becomes the servant.”

“And _that_ means?” She asked again, still just as confused as she'd been.

“Matt was becoming the Kanima.” Adrianna reminded herself, rubbing at her temples in an effort to alleviate the throbbing migraine that was rapidly developing. “He broke the rules and in doing so, tipped the scales beyond recovery.”

“Okay,” Adrianna heard Melissa whisper as she scooted away to give Adrianna more room. “You've totally lost me.”

“That doesn't make sense, though.” She complained, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The word _'imperium'_ isn't just used in reference to a role, it also means a governor or master.”

“So,” Melissa tilted her head, the cogs whirring in her mind as she attempted to keep up. “That translates to _'the masters reverse'_?”

“I guess.” Adrianna breathed heavily, unconvinced that it would be so simple. Texts in Latin were often hard to read, not because of the language, but because some words could not be accurately translated to English. Some words simply didn't have an English counter-part, whatsoever.

Melissa shrugged off the mystery, scrolling down the page even as Adrianna wracked her mind for the exact message that the Physiologus was telling her. As she looked up, her eyes burning from the harsh light of the screen, Adrianna's spinning thoughts abruptly came to a halt.

“Not master,” Adrianna realized, her gazed fixed on a point near the top of the screen where a second illustration was placed. “Power.”

Gradually, Melissa followed Adrianna's stare, a small gasp slipping past her lips as she pointed towards the sketched drawing. “What is that thing?” She hardly dared to speak above a whisper. “That thing—it has _wings._ ” Melissa urgently informed her.

Adrianna phrased the title out loud, _“Kanima majorum et inferioris.”_

She's been foolish not to realize right then and there. A foreboding knowledge weighed heavily over her still weakened form as she dared not look away from the medieval like sketch of a dragon-like creature as tall as three men, with horned talons and a wingspan twice it's height.

“Alpha,” She pointed towards the imposing image, lightly pressing her fingertip across the computer's control board to scroll upwards until the illustration of the Kanima that looked most like Jackson did, came onto the screen. “Beta.” Adrianna finished, labeling the much smaller form as she swallowed thickly, the knowledge she'd stolen from Gerard as compensation for her lost strength, connected with the knowledge she'd gleaned from the Physiologus, so that the mystery unraveled like a sheet of parchment.

There were two forms of the Kanima. The one they'd been dealing with, the form they could hardly manage to fight against and which had still been under human control—for the most part—and the one they had yet to encounter; the form Adrianna knew Gerard planned to unleash.

Only he didn't know one very important thing.

“Master and Servant.” Adrianna shut her eyes, a brooding agitation towards her grandfather's cruel stubbornness nearly overwhelming the hidden terror she felt for his well-being.

“He can't control the Alpha form.” She pulled at her hair in distress as Adrianna realized what she'd been forced to do. “He thinks he can tell it what to do, just like the Beta form, but it's not the same.”

“No one can control the Alpha Kanima.” Adrianna cried, tears filling her eyes. “Not even me.”

Melissa placed a hand over her shaking shoulder, the lid of the computer snapping shut as she kneeled in front of Adrianna. “It sounds like they're going to need your help.” She supplied, her chin dipping slightly so that they were staring into each other's eyes.

Adrianna blinked back the tears that had yet to fall. She felt grateful to Melissa for reminding her of her duty. She could fall apart later, right now, her friends and her family needed her.

“You're right.” Adrianna readily agreed, standing up with renewed purpose even as a closed-off portion of her mind realized that _later_ was likely to never come. “They'll need all the help they can get.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her heart shuddered in her ears, loud and consistent. It matched the pace of her running as she darted out from behind the wall and fired off a volley of arrows from her recently repaired crossbow.

Allison licked her lips, ducking past the opposite side of the doorway and leaning forward a few inches so that she could see if she'd hit her mark. A grin split her lips as she saw Isaac Lahey groan, falling to his knees, the stubby ends of both her arrows sticking out from his chest and shoulder.

“Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek in an attempt to save him.” Allison's grandfather spread his arms wide. A prideful laugh echoed across the walls as he watched Allison's handy work. “You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me.” He goaded.

As the pack of werewolves along with Chris Argent glanced around the warehouse, confused as to how Isaac had been injured, Allison stepped out of hiding so that she was beside and just slightly behind her grandfather, before firing off another arrow.

Her target was Derek, this time.

Waxy, burning hot hatred trailed after the arrow as she let it fly, a snarl curling her pretty face. When Derek easily reached up and caught the projectile about a foot before it could pierce his heart, Allison let out a frustrated screech.

Gerard placed a heavy hand over her arm, pulling her away from him once as a signal for her to leave. Biting her lips, Allison reluctantly did as she was told, slipping back where she'd been as though she'd never left in the first place.

“Allison?” She could hear Scott calling her name, his tone betraying his surprise and concern for her.

Wiping under her darkly rimmed eyes with her thumb and index finger, Allison's heart hardened as she remembered how much she despised being treated like an insignificant opponent. Hadn't she proven her worth? Hadn't she shown them all that she was capable?

 _Maybe they need another demonstration._ The vicious, unapologetic, hungry animal within her growled as an insatiable thirst for power filled her up to the point of bursting.

She hated them all, so much. Allison wanted them to pay for her mother's death. If no one else would make them, she would have to be the one to do so.

“No,” The worried voice of Scott McCall shouted out as she charged forward, abandoning her cover. “Allison, don't!” He pleaded, fumbling in the crossfire, unsure who to help and who to fight.

Allison didn't have that problem.

She knew who her enemy was.

Her Chinese ring daggers felt comfortable in her hands despite the ache in her fingers. Two months of training and it had all lead up to this moment. Allison had never felt more prepared in her life as the edge of her blade slashed across Derek Hale's forearm.

The alpha roared at her, teeth baring in a snarl as Allison barely had time to twirl out of his reach, Derek's eyes glowed red as he came after her, Gerard and the Kanima all but forgotten.

Allison smiled. She'd gotten her wish. Now it was just her and him in a battle to the death. She would make sure she got her revenge, even if it killed her.

Ducking beneath Derek's first, clumsy swing at her, his long claws gleaming under the dim, flickering lights of the warehouse, Allison posed one dagger near her body protectively as she struck with the other. Dragging the blade across Derek's rib cage for a moment, Allison's jaw clenched and her lips spread ferociously as she enjoyed every second of his pain.

Slipping away before she could get too caught up in the moment, Allison allowed herself a brief flash of victory as Derek clutched at his side, grumbling curses under his breath.

“I swear to god, Allison,” He growled, teeth snapping like a dog. “If Scott wasn't in love with you, I'd have already killed you by now.”

Irate, Allison shook her head, forcing her hair out of it's neat braid as her voice became gravelly and thick. “I'd like to see you try.” She challenged, tightening her grip over her blades and launching herself towards the alpha werewolf, throwing caution to the wind.

At first, it seemed as though she'd taken Derek by surprise. Her first few slashes and kicks landed heavily and only slightly off-balance, dealing out the maximum level of damage Allison was capable of. But then, as she began to realize that she was far too close to Derek and his hands could easily reach her, the tides rapidly turned on her.

Those claws, jagged and sharper than any knife, pierced her flesh as Derek intercepted her arm mid-swing, the dagger holding steadily a few inches away from his neck. Allison frowned, growling at the base of her throat in frustration as she tried with all her might to push her arm those two inches forward which spelt out the difference between her death and his.

But she wasn't as strong as she'd thought she was.

Allison wasn't ready to fight an alpha, not yet. Contrary to what her grandfather had been assuring her not more than an hour ago, she was no where near prepared enough to kill Derek Hale, but in that moment, Allison couldn't connect the conflicts of interest and how much danger her grandfather had placed her in by lying.

She was fighting for her life, now. And she was losing.

A scream tore past her lips as Derek's ruby colored eyes narrowed, his hold over her strengthening so that her arm bent to the side and the knife clattered out of her grip.

She didn't have time to wonder if any bones had been broken, although it didn't feel that way to Allison. All she could do was act, lifting her other arm high up in her last attempt to end Derek's life.

His breath was hot and angry as he reached out with his other hand and held onto her violently motivated arm, squeezing so tightly that Allison could almost swear all the blood had been evacuated from her hand, until the remaining knife fell past her numbing fingers.

Pulling her up and off her feet by both her hands, the ache from her stretched out limbs becoming nearly intolerable, Derek leaned close to her face, his eyes narrowed hatefully as he held her up effortlessly. Allison matched his fiery gaze with one of equal loathing, her chin sticking out as she stubbornly refused to admit her defeat.

“Wish granted.” He spat, his hold over her releasing so suddenly that Allison didn't even have time to gasp as his fist collided with her chest mid-fall, and she was sent rocketing across the room.

Her tailbone was the first to feel the impact, followed shortly by her thighs and shoulders as she skidded over the bumpy, sand paper like surface of the concrete floors. When she finally stopped moving, Allison curled her arms around herself and groaned, permitting the first glimpse of real pain to shine through as she examined the long, red scratches burned into her exposed palms and elbows.

As the blistering pain became more acute, Allison was forced to bite her lip as she held back a whimper. Across from her, Derek regarded her coldly, the downwards turn to his lips the only sign that he felt any remorse for causing her such distress.

Allison was fine with that. She didn't want his pity. She wanted his blood.

Lifting herself to her knees and then standing, careful to avoid bearing down on her hands or elbows, Allison gently rolled the fabric lining wrapped around her arm beneath the leather gauntlets she wore, over top of the burns on her elbows, wincing as the skin pulled and stretched in complaint.

Gunfire jolted her out of her sluggish trance, causing her spine to straighten and her head to turn in the direction of the thunderous booms. Near the back of the warehouse, a few meters away from the separate room Allison had noticed early on—the curtain of plastic sheets swinging in an imaginary breeze—were Isaac and her father.

 _No_ , Allison had to remind herself, _Chris Argent and the beta wolf._

The wolf she'd injured was leaning heavily on Chris Argent's shoulder, obviously still greatly weakened from the wolf'sbane dipped arrows she'd shot through his chest. Standing steady despite the added weight, Chris held a shiny pistol in his hands, the recoil from each fire jarring his carefully blank expression so that some of his desperation leaked through.

Allison nearly ran to aid them, her feet moving slowly but then picking up their pace as the two were almost overwhelmed by the armies of hunters her grandfather had arranged to aid in the attack.

It wasn't until she realized that Chris was firing at Gerard, who stood in the center of the warehouse, defying the chaos around him, that Allison faltered in her sprint. Her heart stampeded in her chest as the beta wolf slowly detached himself from Chris, his teeth clenched as he pulled slowly, but deliberately on the poisoned arrows.

As the two bloody shafts fell at the beta's feet, his eyes burned amber, focused directly on her grandfather. The man who had become her mentor, who had understood her anger and honed it into finely sharpened steel. The man who had made her strong enough to avenge her mother and aunt.

The decision didn't even have to be considered before Allison had renewed her sprint, barreling directly for the beta wolf whose intention was to injure or kill the only remaining member of her family which understood her.

She breached the distance easily, her injuries dully throbbing at the back of her mind where they couldn't impede her performance, and Allison pulled out a spare set of knives from the sheaths attached to her hips as she clashed with the werewolf who had only been able to progress halfway between Chris and her grandfather.

The impact shook all the way to Allison's skull, blurring her vision for a moment as she attacked. Her slashes and jibes were well placed, digging deep beneath the arms and across the back, but slicing shallowly down the chest and biceps. Allison had learned her lesson fighting with Derek, not to get too close. If those deadly claws and those powerful fists could reach her, Allison's advantage was moot.

Growling, Isaac's face turned to her, his eyes still as bright yellow as ever, hair sprouting from his sideburns and thickening around his eyebrows, a garish twisting occurring through his forehead as he transformed before her eyes.

Teeth elongated and sharpened into wickedly sharp points, Allison couldn't help looking away for a moment, her eyes finding her father, who was surrounding by enemy hunters on all sides, his hands raised high as the empty pistol slipped through his fingers.

A twinge of remorse tickled Allison's heart, but she pushed it aside just as quickly as it had come, redirecting her attention to the wolf who dared to try and steal her grandfather away from her.

Isaac's lips drew back as he growled at her, a hint of reservation in his inhuman gaze as he attempted to rush forth and catch her, only to trip over Allison's well placed kick.

He doubled over and Allison quickly pounced on the weakness. She felt her blood pumping harshly all the way to her fingertips and her adrenaline levels were sky high, allowing her to move with speed that would ordinarily drain her energy far too quickly to finish the duel.

Grinning as her knives came back red, Allison's attack focused on Isaac's exposed back as he choked and struggled. Each time he tried to turn around, Allison would stab the knife, hilt deep in his side, forcing him to flinch away from her and remain where he was. It was almost a game to her.

If Allison hadn't have been so caught up in maintaining her fluid, precise knife work, she would have realized how truly foreign the sensation was. The blood-lust, the loss of control, and the undiluted rage rushing through her system came from one source and one source only; the very man she was protecting with such misplaced dedication.

And, if Allison hadn't have been so distracted by the strangely gratifying criss-cross of destruction carved across Isaac's back, she would have also noticed the figure standing a few feet away, watching her every move from behind the shelter of the plastic curtain.

But she didn't see it. She didn't even look.

Allison couldn't tear her eyes away from her weakening prey, taking great pleasure when the beta dropped to his knees, an agonized, guttural groan breaking forth, before Allison dug one blade all the way into his shoulder and used the other to hold steady across his throat.

She heard footsteps, but didn't register them over the mad drums pulsing in her mind, keeping check of her true self; the compassion and uncertainty that otherwise would have stopped her at the first drop of innocent blood spilled, locked away in a dark corner of her head where only pain and heartbreak existed.

Allison smiled, nearly laughing, as her grip on the knife held against the beta's neck tightened, beginning to slide in a motion totally unfamiliar to her, but which she knew would cut across the aortic vein, ending the werewolf's life.

Her knife hesitated at the thought, holding still. Allison didn't want to kill anyone. At least, she'd thought that she didn't.

Yet, lifting her stare over to watch Derek destroying the battalion of hunters circling him, throwing them through the air like toys and crushing their bones as if they were made of glass, Allison knew that she had to do the unthinkable, in order to get her revenge.

She would have to sink her hands in the blood of Derek's first beta—who, according to her grandfather, was the strongest of all his betas, sharing the deepest bond with his alpha—in order to inflict the same pain upon him, which he'd dealt out to her on the night of her mother's death.

Allison knew she wasn't strong enough to kill Derek. Their brief battle had proved that to her. But she could at least weaken him through Isaac Lahey, her unfortunate victim.

Her fingers grew cold and stiff from her time debating the action, but they moved swiftly when she commanded them to begin sliding the blade across the beta's throat. His breathing was deep and ragged—frightened, although he refused to permit it to show in his tense expression—as blood welled in the gash she'd begun carving in his skin, dripping down his neck.

And as she herself breathed in deeply, bracing herself for the total loss of her innocence, a force which Allison could nearly have mistaken for a freight train, slammed into her side.

She hadn't been prepared; hadn't seen it coming; so Allison was unable to brace herself in time to avoid skidding across the floor on her knees and slamming her head against the concrete beneath her as her momentum was chewed away by the friction blistering yet another part of her body.

Allison groaned, at first only in exhaustion and vexation, but as she stood, it turned to sickly envy and hatred.

Because standing protectively over Isaac Lahey's hunched form, her knees bent and her visage nearly glowing with power and a bone-chilling malevolence, was the only person that Allison had not wanted to meet, on that night.

The only person who could dissuade her in her quest for blood and revenge, or who could bring it to the point of consuming her.

The only person who was capable of utterly destroying everything that Allison had worked so hard to craft.

As Adrianna Argent reached across her shoulder and pulled forth a sword the likes of which Allison had never seen before, a maliciously glittering blade on either end of a chunky leather handle, Allison felt the first real ripples of consequence for her actions.

Hell itself seemed to freeze over when Adrianna opened her lips, the blade which Allison suddenly realized was crafted from both of her cousin's hunting knives melded together handle to handle, twirling effortlessly in her hand, to speak the words that would forever haunt Allison's mind.

“Hurt him again and I'll make you wish you'd never been born.”

The worst part was that, crouching beneath her cousin—the battle still waging on all around them—Allison knew instantly that each carefully pronounced threat, stabbing like icicles in her flesh, held more truth than she could ever comprehend.

Adrianna was ready to kill her if it meant protecting Isaac.

Allison stood up, forcing herself to stare down her cousin without glancing away from her haunting eyes, which burned with an eerie green fire. She clenched her much shorter, far less impressive knives in her trembling fists and solidified her resolve, setting aside whatever doubts she had about winning a fight against her more experience cousin.

“We'll see about that.” Allison somehow found the strength to retort, her lips rising in a feral, much less attractive version of Adrianna's smirk, as they faced off against each other in a battle of wills for the Argent crown.

Now, they were both ready to kill: one for love and one for glory.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Once he'd turned his back on Allison, who'd unsurprisingly tried to kill him first—an ultimate failure which cast serious doubt on her supposed training—Derek found his attention pulled towards the point in the middle of the room where gravity seemed to be dragging him to.

As Derek approached at a steady pace, dispatching any hunters that stood in his way, he came close enough to see that Gerard was aged and grey, but not as aged and grey as Derek knew he should have been. There was an aura about him that screamed supernatural. It set Derek's teeth on edge and ruffled his composure.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, Gerard had gotten his hands on something that was making him appear younger and stronger than any psychotic seventy-year-old with a history of violence, should have been.

But Derek couldn't dwell on the small details. If Gerard had discovered the fountain of youth, that was good for him, but ultimately inconsequential to Derek.

That was, of course, until the man he'd assumed to be senile and decrepit, unsheathed a broadsword that Derek remembered witnessing Adrianna use to bisect an omega wolf on her first day in Beacon Hills, lifting it over his head like it weighed nothing and proceeding to swing it through the air between them.

The sword whistled as it cut cleanly across the distance separating them. Derek knew that if he wasn't careful, it would cut through him with just as much ease. Snarling, Derek cautiously began circling the eldest Argent. He was dealing with an entirely different version of the Argent leader, than he'd first assumed.

“That's right, Derek.” Gerard taunted, his voice holding steady, the lack of pauses needed to breathe missing from his speech. “I'm not the weakling senior citizen you thought me to be.”

Around them, the dwindling sea of hunters shuffled outwards, allowing a wide berth of space for Gerard and Derek to pace. His fingers stretched wide by his sides, claws extended and dripping blood, as Gerard held the broadsword steady in a pose that would permit him to act in an instant.

“What have you done? What is the point of this?” Derek formed the words around his fangs, which shrank back into his gums slightly the more time he spent idle and not fighting. “Allison is half the hunter Adrianna is; she's useless to you. Your own son has turned against you and the Kanima you treasured, squishing beneath your thumb, is turning into a creature you can't hope to control. What did you think you'd gain by coming here?” He wondered, eyes narrowing as Gerard swung the sword casually.

“You're concern is heartwarming,” Gerard mocked, venom dripping from each word. “But I can assure you that I will not rise to your bait. You cannot pry my motives from me by simply offering me the chance to boast. I am not the fool you take me to be, Derek, and you disappoint your mother by thinking in such restrained dimensions.”

“Leave my mother out of this.” Derek spat acidly, an animalistic snarl catching in his throat.

“As you wish.” Gerard surprisingly agreed, his brows rising placatingly as he gestured around himself. “Should we speak of your impending doom? Or perhaps you'd prefer it if I shed some light on your own perilous predicament?” He goaded, prodding at any exposed nerve he could find. 

Derek held himself steady, restraining the demanding wolf within him that wanted to spring out and tear Gerard apart, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but his sarcastic, wrinkled smile.

“Do not think I have failed to notice how alone you are.” Gerard's stare zeroed-in on something behind Derek. Despite how badly he didn't want to give the old man the satisfaction of turning, Derek couldn't help but do just that. “Tell me, Derek, where is the rest of your pack? Is the Lahey boy really all that remains? Is his loyalty still to you?”

The sight of Allison slashing and hacking apart his beta, sent shock-waves of anguish rolling through Derek's tautly coiled shoulders. “You might be asking yourself what happened to the others, where they are, and if they found the safety they so craved.”

Derek tore his gaze away from Isaac, who'd been forced to his knees. Despite the fact that Isaac had deserted him, in a sense, to follow Scott, there was an undeniable bond that still existed between them. He'd been the one to bite Isaac and grant him the power he'd craved for so long. He was still, in a very real sense, responsible for the boy's well-being.

“What were their names again,” Gerard interrupted his internal misery. “Erica and Boyd?”

Their names rung sour and clipped with distaste from out of Gerard's mouth. Hidden beneath, were threats of violence and death that Derek didn't miss. He breathed hot air out of his nostrils, inhaling the scent of both beta's blood, coating Gerard's hands.

Derek roared angrily; the logical, restrained, human part of him becoming incoherent as he gave into the wolf's wishes and snapped forward to meet Gerard's blade.

The steel, which stung and hissed as it slid through several layers of flesh coating Derek's forearm, grew hot the longer it was in contact with his skin. If Derek hadn't known better, he would have assumed the blade to be made of pure silver. But, like any Hale could have easily explained, silver didn't have such a deadly effect on werewolves as it was told in the legends.

If anything, silver was even less effective than wolf'sbane, causing a temporary rash and weakness that would quickly fade away and heal, sometimes only leaving behind a very small scar.

And the sword Derek ducked away from, a heart-clenching fear that confirmed he was far out of his depth taking hold of him, was definitely doing way more damage than a minuscule blistering of the flesh.

He backed up steadily, refusing to admit to himself that he was on the verge of retreating, Gerard following after him. Although Derek tried his best to duck and step out of the way of the mystery sword, Gerard was faster than he'd given him credit for and often found a way to connect the blade in an experienced flourish with some part of Derek's body.

As he stumbled, leaning backwards at the last minute to avoid the powerful blow Gerard had in store for his head, Derek lost his balance and tumbled to the concrete floor, rolling out of the way of the successive strikes Gerard took at him while he was down.

Turning over onto his back, Derek caught the sword between his palms mid-swing, inches away from slicing through his shoulder. Even as the sharpened, double edges were safely unable to cut him, Derek could feel the metal becoming hot under his palms.

“What the hell?” He grumbled, hot blood pooling from a cut beneath his ribs and a deep gash in his arm which had yet to heal, confirming that not only was the metal able to hurt him, but it also suppressed his enhanced healing.

Gerard followed his confused stare, smiling proudly as he regarded the blade. “I'm surprised you hadn't noticed this weapon's potential, earlier.” He commented, not at all taxed by the pressure Derek was applying against the blade as he tried to twist it out of Gerard's grasp. “But, since I loaned the sword to Adrianna, I have not had the occasion to use it. All the better for me to have yet another advantage over you.”

Derek narrowed his eyes as he surpassed his maximum tolerance for the man's bragging. “Are you really that sure that you've got the advantage, here?” He questioned, his teeth gritting as the sword refused to budge.

“Quite,” Gerard assured him tightly. “Your forces are outnumbered and surrounded on all sides. The allies you have managed to scrounge up for this execution you had planned, are mediocre at best. They do not stand a chance of defeating me or impeding me from reaching my goal.”

Breathing out an amused laugh through his nostrils, Gerard leaned back, his bulging arms still holding the sword in place, as he looked around himself at the grunts and groans, battle cries and frightened shouts, of the war waging beyond their circle of calm.

“You're not as strong as you think you are.” Derek refuted, attempting to rise up to his feet, only for the weight behind the sword to slam him back down as Gerard bent the blade in Derek's hands so that the sharp sides sliced into his palms. “And you've underestimated us. More importantly, you've underestimated Scott.” He managed to grind through his teeth as blood slickened his hands, allowing the blade to slip a few inches downwards, closer to his chin.

“Scott is no more than a bumbling fool who values his own innocence over competence.” Gerard snapped, his tone souring. “He is no threat to me. Whatever power you think he holds because of his enhanced strength, is easily controlled by pulling the strings to his heart.”

“Allison.” Derek realized, fuming the longer he struggled on the ground, unable to break free of the deadlock Gerard had pushed him into. “Do you really think you can trust her? She's an emotional wreck. The only reason she's fighting on your side is because of the misplaced hatred you've planted inside her after her mother's death.”

“True enough,” Gerard concurred stiffly. “And although you were right to say that she is no match for her cousin, the rage that drives her, coupled with the fundamental training I was able to instill in her and the emotional turmoil she will create within Scott and Christopher—a weakness they will not be able to recover from—will be more than enough to defeat them.”

Derek held his breath as the sword creeped closer and closer to his neck. He didn't know if he'd normally heal from a decapitation, or if the sword's alien composition would even allow it. Derek didn't want to take the chance, either way.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention. As he followed the shadowed figure, which ran with a swift gracefulness that reminded Derek of how a strong wind could blow past tree branches, leaving no trace it had been there except for the rustling of leaves, his distraction allowed Gerard to stomp one foot over his chest, drawing the air out of his lungs in a painful exhale.

“You wanna know what I think,” Derek grinned, his stare never wavering from the shadow he'd begun to identify. “I think you tried to kill Adrianna before getting here, so that if she wasn't helping you, she couldn't harm you, either.” He theorized, the dots finally connecting.

Derek understood, now, why Adrianna had always carried the smell of wolf'sbane around with her. She'd been getting gradually weaker throughout her stay in Beacon Hills, and the only reason Derek hadn't noticed, had been because he'd been too engrossed in trying to blame her for her mother's sins against him.

Now, he could see that it hadn't been the werewolves Gerard wanted to poison.

It had been his own granddaughter.

“And for what?” Derek faced Gerard, the guilty ache in his chest alleviating with each word he spoke in Adrianna's defense. “You tried to destroy your own family under the pretense of avenging your daughter's death, just so that you could be strong enough to kill us without anything or anyone standing in your way.” Derek licked his lips, his spine tightening as he prepared to break away.

“To clean the supernatural filth from the bowels of this town—to purge it of it's disease—has been my objective for decades.” Gerard ranted passionately. “I did not wish to kill Adrianna, but she gave me no choice. She would not join me nor would she follow my leadership.” He informed him saltily, remaining aloof from the blame his words inadvertently placed on him.

“And as I'm sure you know,” Gerard's voice lowered an octave as he plunged the blade downwards. If it hadn't been for Derek's hand stretching out to block the sword, it would have impaled him through the neck.

“Something that out of control, is better off dead.” Derek quoted the words Gerard had said only moments before. Although they'd been in reference to the Kanima, Derek could see how well the phrase fit Gerard's warped evaluation of Adrianna.

As Gerard's brows rose in surprise, silence echoing between them in confirmation of Derek's assumption, the broadsword bore down on Derek even stronger, pushing further through the meaty flesh of his palm as he wrapped his fingers around the sizzling metal.

“But what if she's not dead?” He asked. “What if you made the same mistake each and every of us has made at least once since meeting Adrianna? What if you forgot the one very important thing that makes her who she is?”

Gerard frowned, his eyes narrowing as he took in Derek's words, assessing whether he was lying or not. Derek kept his stare steady and firm, jerking his chin to the side as he allowed himself to look back at the shadowy figure he'd seen earlier.

Her lithe form moved beneath the sporadically placed lamps, wielding a long, double edged sword with a handle in the middle. The metal gleamed beneath the light and as she ducked effortlessly beneath one of Allison Argent's strikes, her long, muddy blonde hair spreading outwards like a curtain, Derek could accurately say for the first time since he'd known who Adrianna was and who she came from, that he was genuinely happy for her to be there.

“What if you overlooked the simple yet undeniable fact,” He deliberately pronounced, watching in satisfaction as Gerard's countenance became one of shock and disbelief, his wide eyes following the two cousins who were locked in combat. “That Adrianna isn't human.” Derek finished.

Shaking his head, the slight wrinkles lining Gerard's face seemed to hollow out, shadows making him appear closer to his own age. “That is impossible,” He uttered, hands loosening around the broadsword's hilt. “It should have killed her or it should have turned her.” Gerard explained to himself, his lips moving as he breathed incoherent words Derek didn't catch. “Not this. It was never supposed to allow for this.”

Gerard couldn't seem to look away from his granddaughters. From the sound of things, Derek could tell that Adrianna had the upper hand, but Allison didn't seem to be going down as easily as he'd assumed she might. Both girls were panting and grunting from the effort of their fight, Allison's heart having to work slightly harder than Adrianna's.

His left eye twitched as he counted off the seconds of Gerard's distraction. Once he'd passed the five second mark, Derek felt confident enough that Gerard wouldn't be able to retaliate against the movement he had planned, fast enough to stop him.

Taking advantage of his secure hold over the broadsword, Derek gripped the blade even firmer, pulling it out of Gerard's slackened grasp and sending it skidding across the floor at the same time that he tensed his spine, jerking himself upright and into a squat.

Gerard turned on a dime, the two Argent heirs forgotten as he regarded Derek with renewed ire. There was no more time for bragging or taunting, and perhaps that was even more intimidating, as Gerard advanced on Derek, apparently unfazed by his disarmed state.

Derek stood his ground and there was only a moment where Gerard briefly glanced to the side, his stare calculating exactly where the broadsword had ended up, before the hunter drew back his fist and punched Derek in the face.

He had expected it to be weak. He had thought that, instead of hurting him—as the punch was obviously designed to do—it would have backfired and possibly broken some of Gerard's grisly looking fingers.

But it wasn't weak. In fact, it was pretty damn strong.

 _And_ , Derek lamented to confess, _it hurt like a bitch_.

Reeling, it took a moment for Derek to regain his bearings. By then, Gerard had pulled back his arm and landed another powerful hit to Derek's injured rib cage, and then to his shoulder, and then to his chest. It wasn't until the older man aimed to strike Derek's jaw again, that he was able to regain some control.

Derek's hand snapped up quicker than the eye could see to wrap around Gerard's fist, holding it in place a hair's breadth away from hitting it's mark. For a moment, he struggled to push Gerard's hand away, both men's arms shaking from the effort, but after a few short heartbeats, Derek was able to twist Gerard's arm behind his back, vaulting the hunter away from him as his strength returned.

Uncurling his shoulders and standing tall, Derek felt the wounds scattered across his body, inflicted by the Argent broadsword, closing. As Gerard glared up at him from where he'd fallen, his arm stretching out to take hold of the deadly sword, which was only a few feet away, both men realized that the crowd of hunters which had held them in an arena of sorts, were missing.

Derek's chin tilted to the side as he looked around him, Gerard doing the same, to see that most of the Argent's hired men had been left in unconscious piles, scattered around the warehouse.

“I think your luck may have run out.” Derek couldn't help but provoke, a jeering smirk lifting his lips as he watched Scott rush over to check on Isaac, who was still kneeling, but otherwise seemed fine.

Gerard pulled himself to his feet, his movements less fluid, as if his arthritic joints had begun to ail him again. “I wouldn't be so certain to announce your victory just yet, Derek.” He chastised, hoisting the sword off the ground shakily. “I still have my _Coup de Gr_ _â_ _ce_.”

Following Gerard's gaze, Derek felt an electrical buzz rush up his spine as he saw Jackson's upper body—finally free from the restraining transparent casing that had wrapped around him, which now lay in an unimpressive puddle all around him—shudder where he lay, his legs still tucked away inside the body bag.

Yellow, slitted eyes flying open, Derek had to suppress the urge to groan as the Kanima lifted itself out of the bag, scales rippling across what remained of human flesh, a six foot long tail whipping by it's side as it screeched, crouching low and spreading it's clawed fingers wide.

It scuttled up the closest wall, heading directly for Isaac and Scott, who had their backs turned to it.

Derek was about to yell out and warn them of the approaching threat, but as his lips parted and his vocal chords tensed, ready to be used, Chris Argent rushed out from behind the grimy, plastic sheets which divided the warehouse's two rooms, his guns blazing.

“Damn my impudent son,” Gerard cursed as the Kanima shrieked, dropping to the floor and taking care to avoid the hail of bullets as it engaged in combat. “Do I have to do everything myself?” He rhetorically wondered.

His feet spread wide, claws and fangs at the ready, Derek simply bellowed a response, shifting from foot to foot as Gerard turned back to him, holding his sword at the ready.

Derek sprang back as Gerard slashed wide, nearly severing his arm, using all his senses to predict the Argent's next move. Even though they'd appeared to be winning, the Kanima was sure to mix things up. Derek had to focus on his own fight, as much as he wanted to help the others.

One slight lack of concentration and Derek could end up as half a man.

He thought about how harshly he'd misjudged Adrianna and how close he'd come to killing her for something she hadn't even done.

As he stepped into Gerard's defenses, slashing at the older man's arm and finding that his claws sank into flesh, drawing blood and a pained grunt from Gerard, Derek hoped he could set aside his prejudice towards her for long enough to see the person Scott and Isaac saw.

If she'd managed to survive living with Gerard her whole life and hadn't gone crazy like the rest of her family, Derek realized, wincing as the blade clipped his back and dragged across his shoulder, she had to be stronger than he'd first assumed.

Kate had been first.

Now it was Allison.

Derek was just glad to know that he wouldn't have to deal with a blood-thirsty, psychologically tormented, unrelenting, well-trained warrior that was out for his head. Especially since Adrianna was so much like her mother, old memories were certain to be disturbed.

He'd come to know that it was the little victories that were the sweetest.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Adrianna was mad.

In fact, she could even say that she was furious.

When she'd seen the way Allison had violently attacked Isaac, his blood pouring out in hot trickles across her cousin's knives as something deep and worrying drove Allison to the edge and then beyond, Adrianna had nearly lost her mind.

Something urgent and heart-stopping had driven her to intercede, harshly pushing Allison away with more force than she'd meant to use. A cloud had descended over all rational thought and the only thing that remained was the undiluted, knee-shaking fear of watching Isaac Lahey die; the one person she'd begun to care for unconditionally.

There were too many names on that list who she'd seen killed, or ended up killing herself, for Adrianna to be able to bear adding another one.

Adrianna hadn't thought as she spat hateful, threatening words at her cousin. She had only _felt_.

Deep inside her chest, the heart she'd hidden away all her life for the very same fear of being absolutely devastated beyond recovery, had leapt so far out of the cage it had been locked in, it was still jammed in her throat, even now.

There were words—soft, gooey, vulnerable words she didn't even know how to use—sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be said to Allison. But each time she tried, the familiar ice cold terror blocked her airways and reminded her just how close she'd come to realizing her worst fear.

So they fought, knives slashing, kicks flying, metal grating and sparking red hot as they battled for dominance. Neither was willing to give in.

Though the uncertain, yet extremely potent emotions she felt for Isaac were what motivated Adrianna, it was clear that something else entirely was forcing Allison into the dangerous role of a huntress susceptible to Gerard's meddling.

Something, Adrianna could guess, that was related to Victoria Argent's untimely death.

Easily blocking the array of clumsy, yet powerful blows, Adrianna pressed her cousin backwards, forcing her to retreat as she laid down a heavy layer of cover against the continuous barrage Allison refused to let up on.

Although Allison had two small, close range knives—compared to Adrianna's single amalgamation of her twin hunting blades—it was clear by the way Allison hesitated to breach the relatively vast distance between them, that she wasn't confident using her weapons as they'd been meant to be implemented.

Perhaps she was afraid of losing, should she step closer to Adrianna. Or maybe she hadn't been as fully trained with the knives as she tried to appear. Either way, it gave Adrianna yet another advantage.

The lamps overhead allowed for some bright spots to shine down on them. It was in the shadows between these areas that Adrianna felt most comfortable. She moved as though she was made of darkness itself, jumping back and forth, slashing and diving at her cousin as Allison struggled to keep up.

Adrianna's double bladed sword felt like a second limb, but even as it molded to the shape of her hand, Adrianna could not forget the sting she felt every time she remembered Gerard and the way he had hefted _her_ broadsword over his head.

It had been crafted just for her; the first fusion of celestial bronze and silver—wolf'sbane dipped filigree engraved across the blades. She had trained with it all her life. Without it, Adrianna felt incomplete.

The sword had been meant to finally be hers—wholly and unconditionally—on the day she graduated from training.

Now, Adrianna knew that she would never see that day.

Allison launched at her with just as much fervor as she'd had all night, putting too much emotion into her moves and counter-moves, so that she was left heaving. But, Adrianna had to acknowledge that her cousin had yet to falter.

Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on Adrianna when she understood what needed to be done, closing off her thoughts as she focused on breathing, her sword becoming an extension of her arm, which was an appendage to her body, which was a part of her soul.

Standing directly beneath a lamp, the brightness and constant flickering forcing her to squint, Adrianna lifted her sword up, catching Allison's knife across the middle hilt, and pulled away, the knife coming with her as it caught on the leather straps wrapped across the hand-hold.

Allison growled deep in her throat as Adrianna tip-toed around her, the fallen knife safely out of her cousin's reach. “Come on,” Allison pressed, her tone turning shrill and impatient the longer Adrianna refused to attack. “Come on!”

Stepping forward, Allison dove for Adrianna, her one knife held firmly in front of her with both hands. The technique was there, but the years of practice which allowed knowledge and physical reaction to coincide, was missing.

Adrianna pressed her lips together as she ducked into Allison's charge, twisting her body and using the flat of her blade to slap across her cousin's back, startling her enough that an opening between her arms enlarged to the perfect width where Adrianna could have pushed forward and disarmed her with minimal injuries.

But, like the rest of the day had proven to her, things were never that simple when it came to the Argents.

Expression stormy, Allison struggled against her as their arms become tangled, locked together in a painful contortion that Adrianna had no hope of wriggling out of, thanks to her cousin's persistent kicking and stomping.

Guarding her last knife zealously, Allison was able to reach out and gouge a long scratch across Adrianna's cheek. Her lips rising in a cruel smile, although her brows were furrowed in what could have been uncertainty, Allison slammed the cold knife against Adrianna's neck.

“Stop it.” Adrianna gritted her teeth, attempting to use her less constrained arm to push away the blade digging into her skin. “Allison, you don't want to do this. You're hurting people and who knows what you'll do next.”

She remembered the omega, her first kill. Adrianna hadn't ever thought that she would be capable of taking a life so easily. All that had changed when her mother died. A part of herself that she'd always been too afraid to embrace, had unraveled as easily as breathing. Was Allison any different? 

“Do you really want to kill me?” Adrianna's voice lowered so that it was just her and Allison. There were no more rules or lies, no more reputations to uphold or expectations to reach. “Is that what you want, beneath the anger and whatever Gerard's told you? Because if it is,” She continued, her mind reeling back to all the faltered steps she'd taken and could have avoided, if she'd only had someone to talk some sense into her. Adrianna couldn't allow Allison to walk down that same path, without at least trying to help her. “I can promise you that it won't take away the pain of losing her.”

Adrianna remembered her mother, the way she really was. All that anger and hatred, the power and training, and the few but precious moments of vulnerability and pride that had slipped through the cracks. Kate was always with her, sometimes haunting her every thought, but other times giving her the strength she needed to do the impossible.

“Nothing will.”

Her voice cracked with emotion but Adrianna didn't take back the words. They needed to be said. Allison needed to understand that the only way to overcome the crippling loss, was to allow herself to mourn, no matter how painful it was at first.

Allison faltered, pulling herself and the knife away, her eyes clearing for a moment as she lightly shook her head. “No,” She quietly said, “I don't want to kill you. I never did.”

Her lips fell in a relieved smile, the weight in her chest alleviating. “Then we don't have to fight anymore,” Adrianna suggested gently, wary of the swirling vortex expressed through Allison's caramel colored eyes. “We don't have to end this in even more blood and death.” She said, pitching the sentence so it ended in a question, rather than a statement.

Allison frowned, her jaw abruptly clenching as her anger reared stubbornly, refusing to abate so easily. “But I didn't start this.” She reminded herself, shaking her head.

“Can't you see,” Adrianna pleaded, her voice raw from the mixture of rage and sorrow burning in her blood. “Gerard is using you, just like he used Kate. Just like he tried to use me. The moment he doesn't need you, he'll throw you aside.”

“He doesn't care about you.” She forcefully told her cousin, hope for Allison's redemption fluttering away, just out of grasp the longer Adrianna allowed her cousin's anger to fester. “Gerard doesn't care about anyone.”

Allison's eyes narrowed hatefully. “You're wrong.” She denied, her black makeup smudging in places, allowing Adrianna to see the bright red rims of Allison's eye lids. “You're just jealous because you aren't good enough, anymore. Because you've never been good enough.”

Tears pooled and then fell from Allison's eyes as her nose tinged red. “I am better than you ever were.” She seemed to assure herself, bitter barbs in her words meant to inflict the same pain she was feeling, onto Adrianna. “I'm a better hunter. I'm a better student.” She began to list, her voice strengthening with each word.

“Don't do this, Allison.” Adrianna tried one last time, her own anger beginning to kindle and reignite. “Don't make _me_ do this. Don't cross this line.”

Allison lifted her chin high, a muscle in her jaw twitching taut. “I'm a better leader. I'm a better Argent. I am a better daughter.” She ended up choking past her tensed throat.

Right then, Adrianna forgot about saving her cousin from repeating her own mistakes because in that single moment, the frayed self-control that Adrianna had barely managed to hold onto, snapped cleanly in half.

She pounced forward, all coiled muscle and violent instinct, her sword slashing in a blur of brutal movements as Adrianna kicked into a gear she rarely allowed herself to delve deep enough to tap, for fear of losing herself.

Before Allison could so much as catch her breath or lift her knife to protect herself, Adrianna had twisted her cousin's arm to the point where the bone began to splinter, stopping only to kick away the knife which fell to the ground.

She then countered Allison's panicked kicks and misplaced punches, ducking to the side and sweeping her leg across both of Allison's feet so that her cousin tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Twirling her double bladed sword over her shoulder and across her arm so that it extended all the way to Allison's chin, Adrianna breathed out through her nose harshly and quickly took hold of what little control she could find within herself, to stop from decapitating her cousin.

“Go on,” Allison encouraged her, a hint of the madness Gerard's manipulation was creating inside her, rising to the surface as she stared defiantly up at Adrianna. “Do it. Be the murderer we all know you to be. I dare you to.” She whispered.

For a moment, Adrianna was tempted. Her sword dipped lower, stealing away Allison's next breath as her obstinate cousin refused to show the fear so obviously shining in her eyes. She chose to clench her jaw and brace herself, instead, and the motion reminded Adrianna of herself.

It was enough to bring Adrianna back to reality. She wasn't going to murder her cousin, no matter how twisted and insane Allison had become.

“No.” Adrianna resolutely proclaimed, leaving no room for doubt, even as Allison's eyes narrowed and her lips lifted as if to speak.

Standing back from where she'd been leaning over Allison, Adrianna flipped her sword in her hand, slamming the blade into the concrete inches beside Allison's head. Her cousin jumped nearly a foot in the air, falling back as the strength to lift herself up, abandoned her.

“Don't get up, Allison.” She bit out, her cousin's words still burning painfully. “Don't join a side you don't understand. Don't defend a man you don't even know. Don't pick a fight you can't win. And don't ever, _ever_ , test my restraint again.” Adrianna growled the word, content when her cousin sat back, afraid.

“Next time,” She warned. “You might not be so lucky.”

There was still the rage and jealousy, hints of contempt and even regret, in Allison's eyes as Adrianna walked away.

She left her cousin to ruminate on her words, pulling her sword free from the crack the blade had etched several inches into the concrete, swinging it by her side as she moved onto the next fight.

Deep inside Adrianna, there was a breach that hadn't been mended and a rivalry that hadn't even begun to see the light of day, between her and Allison. She was sure her cousin felt the same.

No matter how much they tried, neither one of them could take back what had been said and done on that night, or what was to follow.

Because, as the Kanima screeched at Adrianna, it's long, whip-like tail snapping behind it, Adrianna was certain that the worst was yet to come.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The raid had started not long after Allison had gone after Derek. And no matter how hard Scott tried, no matter how many of Gerard's hunters he smashed and pummeled, Scott couldn't get his mind off of Chris Argent's words, and how true they rung now.

He'd lost her.

The Allison he'd loved—sweet and funny, caring and sensitive—was nothing but a distant memory. The girl in her place, dressed in black with madness shining in her eyes and blood dripping from her knives, was nothing more than a shell of the girl he'd fallen for, what felt like decades ago.

Sure, she might have been stronger and faster. And there was no denying that she'd gotten more advanced in her training; so much so that she was able to fight against Derek for a record length of time. But she was also weaker, in a very real sense, without the softness Scott had loved so much about her.

Allison had always wanted to be taken seriously and now, she had her wish. But what was any of it worth, if all that was left was the hollow, violent puppet Gerard had carefully crafted in the place of a wounded, motherless Allison, who'd been too devastated to realize her mistakes.

Scott would never forgive himself if Allison permanently lost touch with her real self, just because he couldn't stop Gerard in time.

The plan was still in motion. Scott had to keep reminding himself of that. Even though Adrianna hadn't appeared like he'd been expecting her to, Scott knew he'd have to stick to the plan, regardless.

If he didn't, there would be nothing standing in Gerard's way and Scott would lose Allison forever. He couldn't even bare to think about that possibility, so Scott shook his head and pushed aside the disturbing scenario, focusing on wading through the seemingly endless supply of hunters, doing his best to incapacitate them and not kill them.

Although he'd been succeeding at restraining his strength and separating his mental anguish over Allison, from the task at hand; and the unspoken agreement for the others to do the same, still stood; Scott still found himself stepping over the occasional dead body.

Throat slashed or neck twisted oddly to the side, whatever way they'd died, the murder was always brutal and completed with scary precision.

He didn't have to look around himself to know who'd done it, and despite the fact that they needed Peter's help—according to Derek—Scott had known since the moment he'd seen the man alive, that it had been a mistake to trust him.

But then, as one of the last hunters around Scott fell flat beneath a solid punch, he heard the clear echoes of a voice that chilled his bones and forced his heart to clench worriedly. Looking over, he saw Adrianna standing between Allison and a severely wounded Isaac, a long double bladed sword clenched tightly in her hand.

He wanted to interfere. To somehow calm the brewing anger both girl's expressed through stony expressions and growling threats. But then, the Kanima rose to it's feet and chaos erupted.

Scott rushed to Isaac's side while Derek continued to struggle against Gerard; who had a long, very familiar broadsword held at his throat. Chris came barreling out of nowhere, bullets spraying in a wide arc, aiming for the scaled creature. All the while, Adrianna and Allison battled ferociously, like two wild beasts set loose on each other.

“What's going on?” He had to yell just to be heard over the deafening gunfire. “I thought the Kanima was transforming. It shouldn't even be awake right now.” Scott recalled, leaning over Isaac's bloody back and tucking one arm carefully beneath his shoulder, helping him to stand.

“I have no idea.” Isaac replied, just as loudly. “But whatever's happening, someone needs to make sure that Adrianna doesn't end up losing it. She could kill Allison if she's not careful.” His curly hair was glued to his skull in some places by sweat and patches of his own blood. Scott felt a stab of shame as he realized that Allison had been the one to inflict the wounds on his friend, even as he shook his head in disagreement.

“No,” Scott licked his lips, watching as Adrianna bent over, dodging a succession of Allison's angry slashes, before twirling her new sword in front of her like a helicopter blade, advancing on her cousin. “I'm more worried about Allison trying to kill Adrianna.” He shared, frowning as his ex-girlfriend twisted under one of Adrianna's kicks and landed a solid scratch across her cousin's face as the two Argents became tangled closely together.

“Uh, Scott.” Isaac shifted uneasily over Scott's supporting arm. “I think we have more important things to be worrying about.” His voice wavered cautiously.

Brows pinching together, Scott followed Isaac's line of sight directly towards the Kanima, which had given up climbing across the ceiling and walls and decided to crouch in front of them. The creature that had once been Jackson hissed at them, it's sharp teeth glittering wickedly with translucent strips of saliva.

“You know, I think you might be right.” He agreed, short of breath. Scott surreptitiously spread his feet wider, the claws on his free hand growing out again into sharpened razors as he glanced over at Isaac with a question shining in his eyes. “Can you stand on your own?”

Isaac's jaw clenched tightly as he rolled his shoulders backwards, straightening his posture and pulling away slowly but steadily from Scott. “Yeah,” He affirmed, the wounds scarred across his back still damp with blood. “Let's do this.”

Scott leaned his upper body forward so that he was nearly matching the Kanima's crouch. He focused on the hot coal burning in the deepest part of his heart—the rage and betrayal he'd shoved away after Allison had chosen to follow her grandfather, over him—and allowed his control to slip.

He instantly felt hair sprouting across his face, a slight ache in his gums letting his know that his teeth had sank into fangs. “Together.” He said more to himself, catching Isaac's matching werewolf features out of the corner of his eye.

Nodding his agreement, Isaac snarled loudly, limping slightly to the side so that he was flanking Scott as Chris joined them.

They were two beta wolves and a human hunter, against one Kanima. _How hard can it be?_ Scott asked himself as Chris reloaded his gun and stood across from them.

When the Kanima's tail lashed out, knocking Isaac to the ground, and Scott had to duck out of the way of Chris' ear-splitting retaliation, Scott realized that it was going to be very hard, indeed.

Their numbers turned out to be the only reason they stood a chance against their superior opponent. Together, the three of them were able to lay down an alternating net of cover fire and assaults. But even so, they were only capable of keeping the Kanima busy. Capturing the creature—which was probably the only option they had left to save Jackson—was going to be impossible if they couldn't get more help.

“Behind you!” Scott shouted out as the Kanima scuttled away from him, rushing towards Chris with it's tail swinging back and forth imposingly.

Chris was the only human among them, but even if he'd had supernatural reflexes, Scott knew he wouldn't have had enough time to turn around and defend himself. The man's pistol was all but empty and the ammo clips in his belt were too far away for him to reach before the Kanima was upon him.

Scott moved to help, even though he knew that he'd never make it. His jaw gritted nervously as he watched Chris Argent move in slow motion to face his death. There were still at least five meters between Scott and Chris, and Isaac was even further. Neither of them had any chance of saving him.

Just when Scott had braced himself for the worst, his heart plummeting to his toes as Chris glared straight back at the Kanima screeching greedily over him, a silver blade which shone with gold flecks as it slashed across the Kanima's descending tail, interceded.

“I don't think so.” Adrianna growled, blood still dripping from the relatively shallow cut on her cheek as she stepping between Chris and the Kanima.

Hissing, the Kanima's yellow eyes slitted in confusion as it glanced between Scott and Isaac, who had managed to form a barricade on either side of the creature as it had been posed to attack Chris.

“Go,” Scott commanded, rushing forward at the same time that Adrianna and Isaac did, so that they swarmed the Kanima, claws scratching and metal blades slicing through the tense air.

For a moment, the Kanima was defenseless, surrounded and taking damage on all sides. Adrianna was hacking away at the creature's chest and mid-section, expertly weaving her sword back and forth between her hands in a blurred figure eight pattern. Isaac and Scott took hold of either arm, doing whatever they could to restrain the Kanima's deadly, venomous claws as the scaled creature weakened.

But then—as though it had magically tapped into an unknown strength reserve—the Kanima broke free from Scott and Isaac, pulling them in either direction and sending them crashing to the ground.

As Scott's shoulder took most of the impact, the fabric of his shirt and then the upper lay of his skin, scratching and tearing across the rough concrete floors, he watched as the Kanima caught Adrianna's sword as it arced partway to it's chest, between it's scaly fingers.

Screeching loudly, the Kanima pulled the sword towards itself, drawing Adrianna in by default even as she struggled against the much stronger creature, and then used it's recently healed tail to whip across Adrianna's legs, collapsing them beneath her weight.

“Adrianna!” Scott heard Isaac yell, the name sounding raspy and urgent on his tongue. Taking his gaze off of the winded, but uninjured huntress, Scott's eyes followed the Kanima as it skittered away on all fours, heading towards Derek.

The alpha werewolf had won his battle with Gerard, the broadsword that the older hunter had fought with lying uselessly several meters away as Derek's hand wrapped around Gerard's throat, although it was clear by the tenseness in his shoulders and the blood staining his shirt that he hadn't gotten away unscathed, either.

As Derek's eyes glowed bright red, Scott could tell that his control was thinning. It would only be a matter of time before he snapped Gerard's neck, but, if Scott's gut was correct, it would be a moment too late.

The Kanima was closing on them both, fast. From the twitch in Gerard's clenched fists, Scott knew that the creature had been summoned for only one purpose. He felt a pull in his chest that begged him not to go through with the plan, not to betray the man that had taught him so much, despite their differences.

Biting down on his lip until he tasted blood, Scott set aside the uncertainty and held true to the only thing that hadn't gone terribly wrong, as of yet.

He timed it just right, waiting until the Kanima was only a few feet away before he parted his lips to speak. “Derek, watch out!” Scott cried, a heaviness sinking in his stomach as he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as the skin began to stitch itself closed.

Just like it had been meant to, the words distracted Derek, forcing him to turn his head to stare at Scott quizzically. Their eyes met and some of the anguish must have translated into Scott's gaze, as Derek visibly frowned, confused and perhaps a little frightened.

It was in that moment of confusion, that the Kanima slammed through Derek. Gerard fell to the floor as Derek's grip was torn away, his knees giving out beneath him. Scott knew he should have gone over to Gerard and offered his assistance—it would have cemented the trust that had been built of his supposed naive idiocy and Gerard's arrogant blindness to Scott's actual intelligence—but an acrid hate in Scott's mouth rendered him immobile as he watched Derek and the Kanima brawl across the room.

He'd done his part. He'd set Derek up, just like Gerard had wanted, and allowed for the alpha to be caught by surprise. Scott didn't have to enjoy it. In fact, he didn't even have to watch it. But somehow, he felt it would be disrespectful to look away from the disaster he'd helped to create.

So he set his jaw and watched as Derek snarled deep in the back of his throat, the way he only did when he was beyond the point of controlling his rage, and forced himself not to cringe away as the Kanima twisted Derek's arms in on themselves and used Derek's own claws to impale his stomach.

Roaring in agony, blood poured between Derek's fingers as he collapsed unwillingly onto his knees. Hissing in a way that reminded Scott of laughter, the Kanima moved away, retreating from the kill as it followed it's masters commands to the letter.

Scott didn't want to think about what would come next. He just acted, beginning to walk towards the fallen alpha, Adrianna by his side, both of them refusing to even glance over at Gerard, who'd already righted himself—a stiff, apathetic set to his lips giving no intentions or thoughts in the ominous swirling grey clouds of his eyes, away.

But before he could get any closer, the unexpected transpired and the only factor no one had truly considered, shattered the carefully thought-out turn of events.

Allison vaulted herself across the distance separating her and Derek, her bloody and slightly bent knives held at the ready in her white-knuckles fists. Scott didn't even have time to process what she was doing, before she had begun hacking away at Derek's defenseless form.

“No,” He heard Adrianna breathe beside him, so much hope hanging in the balance with that one word. “What does she think she's doing? She's ruining everything.”

Scott couldn't help agreeing, although he didn't say so out loud. “I think she's trying to avenge her mom.” He hesitantly voiced the thought that had stuck in his mind the moment he'd seen Allison with Gerard.

Combing a section of her frizzy, unkempt hair out of her face, Adrianna sighed, shaking her head. “I really wish you weren't so right.” She resentfully agreed. They traded guilty glances. Both of them knew that Allison's mental break rested, in part, on each of their shoulders.

And then, to make matters worse, as Derek's weak resistance dwindled into nothing, his blood loss increasing to a horrifying amount, the Kanima sprung forth and wrapped it's tail around—not Derek's neck—but Allison's.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Gerard's reprimanding voice boomed across the warehouse. Scott noticed Adrianna shifting beside him as Isaac joined them. He saw her shoulders dipping, the muscles almost relaxing, although her eyes remained as sharp as ever.

“What are you doing?” Allison choked, her knives clattering to the floor as she reached up to try and loosen the Kanima's hold over her. Slowly, her feet rose off the ground, higher and higher.

Scott broke away from Adrianna and Isaac, circling over to Gerard's side and then continuing so that he stood between a fallen Derek and unraveling Allison. “He's doing what he came here to do.” Scott admitted, the almost ever-present tightness in his chest fading away as the secret began to be told.

Looking over his shoulder, Scott saw the way Gerard's brow rose in bafflement. “Then you know?” Gerard said with much more astonishment than Scott had expected.

On the other side of Derek, Adrianna appeared. She nodded slightly as he looked at her. They were ready. Now, Scott could only hope that the plan was actually as fool-proof as Adrianna had assured him it would be.

“What's he talking about?” Allison's voice wavered, pitching high and gravelly as her bravado began to crumble away.

Gerard ignored her, his laser-like stare burning into Scott's uneven jaw-line and making him straighten his posture. “It was the night outside the hospital, wasn't it? When Adrianna and I threatened your mother.” Gerard guessed correctly. “I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could just smell the parasitic darkness festering within me, couldn't you?” He lowered his tone to a growl.

Scott glanced to the side as Chris approached, choosing to stand a few feet away from his daughter, even after she'd betrayed them all.

“He's dying.” Isaac spoke up from where he was positioned beside Adrianna. His arms hung limply by his sides, the fingers on his right hand twitched slightly.

Adrianna smirked, her lips curling sarcastically as she breathed a small laugh. Gerard smiled, joining her in a private joke that no one else could understand. “Cancer.” She stated bluntly. “And after everything, you've only bought yourself another month.”

The tightening in her voice and the color that rushed to her cheeks, were the only sign that the knowledge of her grandfather's impeding death bothered her in the slightest. As she shifted to the side, Isaac's fingers interlocked with hers.

“Accurate and insolent as only you can be, Adrianna.” Gerard seemed to praise her, though there was a bite of something foreign and prickly in his voice. “Yes, I am dying. I have been for a while, now.”

Scott clenched his knuckles until they cracked. Gerard spread his arms wide as though the whole thing was some kind of spectacle. “Unfortunately, science does not yet have a cure for cancer.” He morosely intoned, sounding like he was in a Shakespearean play. “But the supernatural does.” Gerard reminded them ominously.

Chris instantly understood, the gun in his hand rising slightly as if he wanted to use it on his father. “You monster.” He accused, no trace of pity in his stern gaze.

“Not yet.” Gerard disagreed, jerking his chin towards the Kanima in a silent order that could not be disobeyed.

Scott felt his heart begin to pump as Allison's feet shook, her limited air supply cutting off as the Kanima's tail tightened around her throat like a noose. “What are you doing?” Allison repeated tremulously, her eyes finally resembling the same resourceful, honest, brave, intelligent girl he'd fallen in love with.

Chris stepped forward, his pistol aiming directly at Gerard before he thought better of it. “You'll kill her too?” He demanded, reluctantly allowing his weapon to rest against his chest.

“When it comes to survival,” Gerard began lowly, a gritty strength overtaking his tone as it rose into a shout. “I'd kill my own son!”

Scott wasn't sure if he was ready for what came next, but when Gerard's beady eyes landed on him—nearly bulging outwards with the intensity of his emotions—Scott knew that he didn't have a choice.

It was show time...

**#-#-#-#-#**

Derek could hardly see straight, but even so, he knew without the use of his sight that the blurry figure in front of him, twisting his arm behind his back and pulling him to his feet, causing the pain in his slashed open stomach to triple as he was dragged across the room, was Scott.

There was a certain smell that only another werewolf carried, not to mention Scott's own distinct scent, that identified him. That, and the nearly intoxicating waves of guilt rolling off of him.

“Very good, Scott.” Gerard praised, his words clipped and shaking with his villainous glee. “Adrianna, hold the others back.” The hunter added as, blinking harshly, Derek was able to clear his vision enough to see Chris and Isaac tense, stopping dead in their tracks as the girl in question lifted a sword beneath her Uncle's chin and pressed a firm palm against Isaac's chest.

A growl threatened to slip past Derek's lips, but it died in his throat as he coughed on his own blood. He knew what was going to happen next. He'd heard all the things Gerard and the others had said. The man was dying. Cancer.

There was only one way he could survive and that was through the bite of an alpha werewolf; which he so happened to be.

“Scott, don't.” Derek found himself pleading as the distance left before they reached Gerard, shortened. “You know that he's gonna kill me right after. He'll be an Alpha.” The words were acerbically pronounced. A last ditch attempt to plead his point.

Refusing to meet his gaze, no matter how oddly Derek twisted his head to try to look behind him, Scott eventually reached out a stiff hand to secure around the back of Derek's neck to prevent him from ducking around.

“That's true.” Gerard easily agreed. He spoke lazily, like he had all the time in the world. It was the pace of a man that was not afraid to gloat after a victory. “But I think he already knows that, don't you, Scott?”

Derek felt the fingers locked tightly beneath his jaw flexing nervously. It was all the answer he needed. Scott did know. Maybe he'd known all along. It made Derek want to kick himself for not trusting his gut instinct after he'd heard Adrianna and Scott talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station.

Some people, Derek knew, just weren't cut out to live the way he'd learned to, after the fire. There were sacrifices to be made. Some small, some large. And one of those sacrifices, was human attachment.

There was no room for love in a werewolf's world. Sooner or later, something always went wrong.

“He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison.” Gerard allowed a suffocating silence between the words where Scott loosened his hold over Derek just enough to let him catch another glimpse of Allison, who was still suspended by her neck, the Kanima's claws inches away from her tensed jugular. “If he does this small task for me, they can be together.” He reminded Derek.

The metaphorical and literal bait hung in the balance as Scott frowned, reluctantly tightening his grip on Derek as he pulled him the few final feet so that they where standing directly beside Gerard.

“You—” Gerard taunted, staring directly into Derek's eyes with madness and undiluted satisfaction clouding his gaze. “Are the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek.”

Derek peeled his lips back, gagging as two of Scott's fingers jammed beneath his jaw, forcing his mouth to open wide and his fangs to descend as he snarled silently.

His eyes darted to the side, where Gerard was staring out at the perfectly played script that had unfolded. Allison had been their weakness. She was the unsuspected weapon that simultaneously disarmed Chris and pushed Scott that extra inch he needed, to do the unimaginable.

And Adrianna. Derek didn't even want to start with her.

He'd been so convinced that he'd misjudged her. That she wasn't a carbon copy of her mother, and that she didn't deserve his wrath or hatred. He'd been so close to forgiving her.

An uncanny moment of eye contact passed between Adrianna and Isaac, her fingertips curling where they lay across his chest, and it was as though they were silently communicating. Derek frowned as he watched the interaction, anxious to see what his beta would do.

Derek couldn't believe that the pleasure of saying _'I told you so'_ to everyone that had doubted his firm opinion of Adrianna's duplicitous nature, seemed hollow.

Huffing through his nostrils in disappointment, Derek watched as Adrianna leaned forward to whisper something into Isaac's ear. The deafening drumbeat of his heart prevented Derek from hearing what.

Derek anxiously waited as Isaac licked his lips, glancing between him and Adrianna, before swallowing roughly. He looked away from Derek's burning glare, stepping closer to the huntress as he chose her over him in a near heartbeat.

It was then that Derek allowed himself to feel the oppressive hopelessness crushing down on him.

He'd chosen to live alone for so long, for a reason. He liked it that way. There were less emotional strings to risk fraying. But that didn't mean that, now that he'd built his own pack and opened himself up against the possibility of getting hurt, he was immune to the aching despair that coursed through him at the knowledge that he'd been rejected.

“And in case you haven't learned yet,” Gerard went on to say, almost as though he had read Derek's very thoughts. “There is just no competing with young love.”

His fists clenched as he tried his very best to force his body to heal. The nails curling into the meat of his palm burrowed deep and only added to the agony Derek felt.

“Scott, don't!” Derek cried out in panic as Gerard began to roll up his sleeve, exposing the pale flesh on his arm. “Don't do this! Stop!” He had the chance to shout before Scott locked his jaw wide open.

Derek could do nothing more than shudder and uselessly twitch his securely restrained arms as his sharp canines were lowered onto Gerard's exposed arm. He felt the sting of betrayal all the way to his bones as Scott held him steady.

No one came to his aid.

“I'm sorry.” Scott whispered a moment before Derek felt his pointed fangs break the skin near Gerard's curled fist. “But I have to.”

Because the love Scott had for Allison, was far stronger than whatever supposedly brotherly bond they'd started out with, which had been ruined through lies, mistakes, close calls, and far too much distrust for two people to set behind them, without there being remnants of doubt left behind. 

_The bite was supposed to be a gift_ , Derek bitterly thought, and he wasn't sure if he was referring to Scott's bite—which had actually been done by Peter—or the four other bites that Derek had given out to his betas and the very creature that had sealed his own miserable fate the moment it threatened Scott's number one priority.

He'd created the Kanima. He was responsible, in a way, for forging the weapon that was now pressuring Scott to do a terrible, doomsday, apocalypse sort of thing by granting a madman like Gerard the power of an Alpha, which would come to him when he finished Derek off.

But it didn't matter, because whatever the case, Derek could see now how wrong he'd been to shut himself away from Scott and Isaac; casting Erica and Boyd aside the moment their loyalties became uncertain.

He should have told them how much they mattered to him, when there had still been time to earn their respect and devotion. Instead, he'd let his anger blind him and steal them away from him while his back was turned.

Now he was back where he'd started. On his own— _again._ And to make matters worse, the messy part hadn't even started yet.

There was no better irony than that.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He spread his arms wide and victorious, channeling other great men like Alexander, Aristotimus, and Plutarch of Erteria—who had risked everything to burn their names into history and carve out a trail no one else had dared to walk down before them, all for the sake of power—as Derek Hale's bite began to turn him into the very creatures he'd hunted all his life.

Gerard had never felt an equivocal power, not even when he'd stolen strength from Adrianna in order to survive the chemical battle waging in his body, as his cells seemed to irradiate, stretching and burning in a pleasant ache.

Clenching his fists, staring in awe at the perfect imprints of Derek's teeth left behind in his wrist, Gerard felt the wave crash through him as the cancer in his bones, leeching through his body, evaporated to nothing.

He smiled, laughing deep in his throat.

 _So this is what true power feels like?_ He asked himself, greedily anticipating the moment he could do to Derek what had been done to Kate, slashing open the Alpha's throat and claiming the role he'd yearned to take, longer than he could remember, but could never satisfy as a mere hunter.

Humans were pitiful, he'd realized the moment his father had taken him on his first hunt. Werewolves, though their nature offended him, were the key to achieving greatness.

And now, after nearly sixty years of uncertain hoping and twenty-four months of careful planning and excruciating waiting, Gerard had wrapped his hand around the secret to eternal life, unbothered by human illnesses and invincible to anyone that would dare to challenge him.

He had it all laid out. The path from here, would be simple.

But then, an impossible thing happened.

Gerard's plan fell apart, right before his eyes, as he watched the holes punched through his flesh where Derek's teeth had been, widen as black tears pooled out, dripping down his arm.

“What?” He shakily asked himself, unable to tear his eyes away from the hauntingly familiar sight. “What is this? What did you do?” He wailed outwards, realization shattering his arrogant dreams with a swift kick even he couldn't have seen coming.

Derek was fallen on his back, staring up in equal fear and surprise. Gerard didn't even consider it possible that he was responsible for the dark turn of events. He moved onto Allison, who had tears in her eyes as she remained frozen beneath the Kanima's grip.

 _No,_ Gerard had time to think. _She was under my control the entire time._ It couldn't have been Allison. Not when she was too busy adhering to the silly delusions of justice he'd easily implanted in her fragile mind.

Gerard knew without looking that his own son and the beta wolf that Adrianna had become so fond of, were not capable of such treachery. This was the result of an experienced killer, who'd given great thought into planning out each detail of the foiling of his ascent into greatness.

His eyes landed on Adrianna. She stared back and it was in that moment that Gerard regretted not having her by his side. There was steel in her gaze, sharp and cutting down right to Gerard's soul. In his own twisted way, she earned again his respect as her hatred screamed volumes while not making a sound.

And then, just when Gerard had accepted his fate, he was surprised again.

“Everyone said that Gerard always had a plan.” Scott McCall announced, standing off to his side, just out of reach, so that Gerard's itching fingers couldn't snap the first thing they came into contact with—which very well might have been Scott's smugly upturned lips and his twinkling, laughing eyes.

“I had a plan, too.” The boy admitted, an irritating, boastful dimple framing the grin Gerard wanted to wipe clean from his face.

“No.” Gerard gritted through his tightly clenched teeth. There was so much pressure building up in his jaw that, if Gerard had bothered to listen, he would have heard the crunching of his teeth as they began to crack under the stress.

His hand flew to the pocket where he kept his pill box. Gerard shook his head as he stared over at Adrianna once more. “No!” He boomed angrily, his shaking, unsteady hands pulling out the small, metal container and emptying the large pills into his open palm.

Gerard could feel the weight of the pills. He'd known since the moment Scott had given them to him at the sheriff's station, claiming that he'd dropped them, that something hadn't been right. Only Gerard had been too consumed by his imminent salvation, and far too relaxed out of his normally hyper-vigilant state, to sniff out the truth.

Crushing the pills took all his strength, but as the plastic bits fell away, revealing exactly what he'd feared most—black, ashy powder which caused his knees to sway by just holding onto it—Gerard found that the effort was well worth it.

“ _We_ had a plan.” Scott corrected as all eyes swung between Adrianna and her accomplice in guilty disbelief.

Adrianna, at least, had the decency not to appear smug. Another trait that Gerard had not given her enough praise for. Her brow was furrowed sternly as she watched Gerard fall to his knees, black bile forcing it's way out of his stomach and past his lips in an acidic torrent that seemed to have no end.

Gerard choked some of it back for long enough to release all his fury into one, terrible word.

“ _Mountain Ash!_ ”

He remembered how he'd watched his own granddaughter fall victim to the wolf'sbane he'd tainted her with, all in the hopes of using her link to Jackson, to maintain control over the creature he was soon to become.

It seemed like poetic justice, now that Gerard thought about it, for his life to end just as Adrianna's had been meant to.

Garbled, unintelligible words were exchanged between Derek and Scott, along with blurry glances among the rest of his family. Gerard didn't pay them much heed.

He was focused on one, distorted figure, although her features appeared vaguely familiar to his failing eyesight and the sword gleaming near her stood out like the dawn after a long, dark night.

Bubbling, consuming hatred took hold of him them.

No one could take advantage of him—outsmart him and leave him for dead—without paying the brutal price.

“Kill them!” He hardly managed to roar, his voice pinching and gargling through the stream of black poison spewing past his mouth, rapidly gathering in a pool near his face as he collapsed to the floor. “Kill them all!”

Gerard Argent was never one to go down without a fight.

He promised himself that he'd make them all very sorry for what they'd done.

Even if it meant unleashing a beast that would surely never cease in it's bloody rampage of destruction and death, until everything in it's path had been reduced to rubble.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He was watching from the sidelines as Gerard Argent—fearsome and merciless leader of the Argent hunting clan for a much longer time than Peter would have liked—was defeated by his own lust for power.

The bite he'd forced out of Derek had been the catalyst to a reaction that had been brewing inside the man for what appeared to be a while. Even though Peter didn't particularly respect Scott, he couldn't help but admire the craftiness of his plan.

Using mountain ash to poison Gerard was resourceful, but it also begged the question as to how Scott had even known that Gerard's plan was to become a werewolf, in the first place.

Knowledge like that, wasn't easy to come by.

You couldn't just dismantle a mystery so complicated and fundamentally mind boggling, with a whiff of Gerard's cancerous scent. No, Peter knew where that information had come from.

The girl dressed in black with a double bladed sword that appeared wicked sharp, even from a good six meters away, and intimidating as hell when her gaze slid over his hiding place, almost as though she could sense his presence there, was the real answer. She was the girl that had been groomed and trained since birth, to be the Argent heir. It would make sense that she'd have the best chance at guessing Gerard's true intentions behind coming to Beacon Hills.

And yet, Peter also knew that it wasn't that simple. Things rarely ever were.

He leaned forward to get a better look, clawed fingers curling around a metal support beam providing his cover, as the Kanima abruptly dropped Allison, turning to face the remaining threats.

It shrieked, the sound piercing deep into Peter's ears and forcing him to wince, before launching itself forward to enact it's master's dying wish. The lights played tricks with Peter's eyes as they flickered overhead, casting certain parts of the warehouse in sporadic shadows. He could have sworn that the Kanima was at least a foot taller than he remembered it being, with a strange sheen to it's scaly hide that spelled nothing but trouble.

Chris Argent was it's first target. He was the closest and least capable of defending himself in the group, aside from Allison. If it had been Peter, he would have used the same strategy, which in and of itself was disturbing, as it proved that the Kanima was intelligent. Picking off the weak ones first and then going after the rest, always permitted for interesting responses through the battle, ranging from an even bloodier massacre, to a cowardly retreat that no one would expect.

But even as he thought it, Peter had already realized that the teenagers Derek had tried and failed miserably to align himself with, were made of tougher stuff than that. They stood tall against the charging creature, all of them refusing to back down as their moment to prove their worth, came about.

There had been a time when Peter would have joined them. He'd had his moments of generosity, in the past. But since he'd broken free of his comatose state—the lessons he'd learned as an invalid with no one to turn to for help, sticking with him—Peter had learned how to pick and choose his fights for his benefit.

And this one, against a creature of untested strength, speed, and agility, which was more unpredictable than Derek on a moody day, just wasn't going to play out in his, or anyone else's favor.

Not when they still didn't know if it's transformation would be completed, or if it had already been.

Peter was no fool. Opposing the dragon-like monster he'd seen as the Kanima's Alpha form was upright insane. Especially when the only help he'd get was from a middle-aged, human hunter, two beta wolves who still didn't know their own limits, an Alpha with confidence issues, and the daughter of the woman who'd burned him and his entire family alive, who he was now entirely certain was the half-blood he'd thought her to be.

No, Peter was better off right where he was. Studying his enemy and learning everything he could about his possible allies. Because if that thing really did end up going Godzilla on them, he was sure as hell not going to be on his own when it came for him.

Chris Argent had reloaded his gun in the space it took for the Kanima to scuttle towards him—which actually wasn't very long at all—and the harsh, successive bangs of the pistol spitting out bullet after bullet ricocheted through the air.

Blow after blow sank into the Kanima's body as it crouched low, it's claws raking into the concrete beneath it to keep itself from being pushed away, although it didn't try to evade the bullets. They simply punched straight through it's flesh, zipping across the room and colliding with random lights and walls. From Peter's vantage point, he could clearly see the scaly hide sewing itself shut moments after Chris had emptied his entire clip.

A silence echoed across the vast warehouse as the Kanima remained where it was, it's head tilting to the side as it examined Chris curiously. And then, like a bolt of thunder crackling down on them, the room exploded in motion.

Chris reached for another magazine, reloading his weapon with effective speed as Isaac—which Peter had found out to be Derek's curly-haired beta's name—and Scott sprung towards the beast, narrowly avoiding it's swinging tail as they began to slash and kick at whatever they could grasp onto for more than a second.

Hissing angrily under the continuous assault both betas managed to rain down on it, combined with the added firepower Chris managed to provide when he'd systematically loaded a bullet into the chamber of his gun and fired shot after shot into the Kanima's tough skin, it only took a moment for the creature to grow weary of it's incompetent aggressors.

As quick as a literal snake going in for the killing strike, the Kanima's tail swept under Scott's legs and sent him tumbling to the floor as it ripped into Isaac's chest with it's claws.

“No!” Adrianna shouted savagely, something desperate and violent pitching in her tone from where she was helping Derek to his feet, blackish veins fading away from the top of her hands as she jerked Peter's nephew upwards and deliberately stomped towards the Kanima.

Peter's eyebrows rose in amusement as he noticed the way the half-blood huntress' gaze slid between the injured beta wolf—who was crouched beneath the Kanima, greatly weakened by the gaping trenches scratched into his chest—holding steady for a moment too long to have meant nothing at all.

He cataloged it away for future use. If Isaac was the key to Adrianna's heart, then Peter would be sure to remember just in case he found himself in a situation where he'd need a certain amount of leverage against the huntress whose mother he'd killed.

Screeching in a way that reminded Peter of nails dragging across a chalkboard, the Kanima eagerly accepted Adrianna's challenge as it navigated over Isaac's body, standing between her and him in defiance as it's tail flicked behind it's back impatiently.

Adrianna didn't hesitate as she broke out into a flat sprint, one of her arms pumping by her side rhythmically as the other kept a firm hold over her impressive looking sword.

Over to the side, Peter noticed that Chris had crept around the fringes of the battle to kneel beside his daughter, Allison. The two Argents watched, the elder with a troubled expression clouding his features while the younger narrowed her brown eyes, an envious light reflecting over her puckered lips and frowning forehead.

Peter could practically feel the rivalry coming to a boil between both cousins as Adrianna slid on one knee across the floor, ducking beneath the Kanima's swiping claws and slicing her sword across the back of the creature's leg with precision under pressure the likes of which were hard to come by in any hunter, these days.

She gritted her teeth, an effort filled grunt rolling past her throat as she stabbed her sword into the floor, all the way to the middle hilt, as though the concrete was butter, propelling herself around the weapon like some kind of pole dancer so that she could use both her feet to slam into the Kanima's side.

If this was what Kate had been like at her daughter's age, Peter could finally understand why his nephew had been so interested. There was something unnervingly sexy about a woman that could handle herself around a terrifying monster. It was undeniable and nearly irresistible.

Scott joined her side as the Kanima staggered, regaining it's footing just quick enough to dodge the heavy swing of Adrianna's sword and create a moment of opportunity as Adrianna struggled to pull back her weapon and seal off her widely exposed front. If Scott hadn't have sprung at the opening that the Kanima had inadvertently allowed as it pursued Adrianna, slashing his claws across the Kanima's exposed back, Peter was sure that she would have been reduced to ribbons in an instant.

Trading his stare all around the room, another important turn of events catching his attention, Peter narrowed his eyes in concentration as he listened in to what Chris was urgently telling his daughter.

“Stay there and stay out of the crossfire.” Allison's father instructed sternly. “This fight is bigger than either of us. I don't want you getting hurt trying to prove something.”

Chris hesitated a moment where he stood, arms outstretched in warning to Allison, before turning his back and slotting another clip from under his belt, into his handgun.

Of course, as soon as Chris strategically positioned himself near the edge of the tussling wolves and steadily winning Kanima—shooting off round after round whenever he could get a clean line of sight—Allison picked herself up and did exactly the opposite.

Peter smirked as he enjoyed the rare spark of rebellion in Allison's actions. As it turned out, she wasn't as much of a goody two shoes as he'd thought. She rushed closer to the fierce battle of swords, claws, whip-like tails, and teeth; adding her own arrows to the mix as she scavenged her fallen crossbow from the ground a few meters away and began firing.

 _Now this is entertainment,_ Peter marveled as the whole crew began to work in synchronization, pausing a moment to allow Derek to join the fray and to avoid Allison's unexpected cover which, more often than not, whizzed too close to the good guy's heads to be deemed comfortable.

And, since Peter was often hasty to reach a verdict and tensions were still high-strung between the self-proclaimed heroes, it all went downhill from there.

Chris ran out of bullets at the same time that Allison's arrow supply dwindled to nothing. As the more experienced hunter realized that, with only short-range weapons left in his arsenal, Chris had been effectively removed from the battle, Allison made the mistake of believing that there was no difference between shooting at the Kanima from afar, and engaging in close-quarters combat with it, grasping a pair of short daggers and rushing into the thick of things.

Perhaps Allison would have been able to fend for herself and stay alive without anyone's assistance, if only she'd had more training. But as it was, her novice fighting technique and approach caused a major trip-up within the group that promised to spell deadly consequences.

Stepping in front of Scott—who barely had enough time to side-step away, his clawed hand swinging inches clear of Allison's speedy form—the least experienced among them chose to fill the most perilous role as she faced the Kanima head on.

Peter grimaced in sympathy as the four others fumbled in their positions, unsure where they should hit the Kanima as Allison began her uncoordinated attack, paying no mind to the unspoken rules and choreography that had been established before her interruption.

“Allison, get out of the way!” Adrianna growled as their shoulders bumped and the younger, better trained cousin was forced to dance on the balls of her feet to avoid tripping over Allison's wide stance.

“No, you get out of my way.” Allison countered fiercely, shoving away from Adrianna as their egos clashed. “I can handle this.” She insisted, her gaze unrelentingly burning into Adrianna's equally determined stare.

While they faced off against each other, more than just their skills being challenged, the Kanima ripped into Scott, wailing loudly—sounding almost like a dinosaur—as it flung Isaac across the room.

It was only then, as Peter watched the Kanima's dry, flaking skin begin to peel away to reveal a slimy, bulging under-layer of corded muscle straining to break free, that he understood why the Kanima hadn't transformed into the Alpha form they'd all been expecting, and why it's apparently non-existent venom hadn't paralyzed any of it's victims. Peter suspected that the sticky slime had been used up in the cocoon that Jackson had been enveloped in, moments prior.

Which made Peter wonder why it had chosen to wait so long, before beginning it's metamorphosis. It could have simply been part of the process, but Peter had a suspicion that there was more to it than just that, or else, every Kanima that had ever existed would have eventually turned into an Alpha. And if that were true, he would have definitely heard of the creature before now.

As Adrianna and Allison struggled to reach an acceptable compromise, the Kanima turned on them, it's slitted eyes blinking freakishly as it screamed in a higher pitch than it had ever done before.

Immediately, both girls stopped their petty dispute, focusing on the Kanima as it crouched before them, it's scales dull and whitish, rolled in dead flakes that crumpled to the ground with each of it's movements.

“We can take him.” Allison assured out loud. Although there was a tremble in her voice and a stutter in her heart rate, she pulled out her battered set of knives and held them in her hands as bravely as any of the rest of them could have managed.

In front of them, the Kanima roared. It's flesh rippled with energy, seeming to bulk outwards, as if it's own muscles were being constrained by it's flesh. As though there was an entirely different creature trapped within the beta Kanima's form, trying to break free in that very moment.

“No,” Adrianna smartly realized, her tone earnest and filled with dread. “We can't.”

Peter felt his body coil tightly in anticipation of either Argent girl's move. Whatever they did in that moment, would set the tone for the rest of the night, and possibly much longer, as the Kanima bent over and reached the final stage of what Peter assumed to be preparation for a full transformation.

Bones snapped out of place, muscles stretching and large patches of scaly hide falling away as Peter's imagination took flight, reminding him of the terrifying image he'd seen in the copied Hale records. The thing they might very well have to face without a serious intervention, in only another heartbeat.

And then, a deafening crash echoed through the warehouse as the wall of foggy paned, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the warehouse, shattered around a very familiar, slightly battered, blue jeep.

The headlights blinded Peter and he was forced to raise a hand to shield his eyes as he watched the car race towards the Kanima; Allison—who'd already begun to make her way over to the mutating creature—stuck in the crosshairs.

Peter didn't have to have enhanced hearing to know that everyone; especially Chris, who had the most to lose; held their breath, words stolen away in the unexpected moment where Adrianna reached out and pulled her cousin to safety, an instant before the jeep's grill collided with the Kanima's chest.

Shock was the first thing Peter felt, followed shortly by a surprised sense of relief as his claws detracted and the threat fell away, for the moment.

“Did I get him?” Stiles Stilinski asked once he'd climbed out of the driver's side of the Jeep. But Peter wasn't really paying attention to the spastic boy's question.

His eyes were locked on the second person, which stepped out of the passenger's door, her red hair flowing out in a halo around her pretty face as she hurried to the front of the Jeep, where the Kanima had once lain.

Only now, it was standing, the transformation interrupted as it's scales rippled between human and reptile, exposing enough so that Jackson Whittemore was recognizable once more.

“Jackson!” Lydia Martin shrieked, a delicate hand fluttering over her chest and then to her lips as she beheld the monster her lover had become.

Instead of shying away, like Peter thought she would, Lydia walked even closer to the deadly creature, despite the warnings shouted out at her. In her eyes, which appeared glossy and brimming with tears, was not fear or disgust; there was only love. Not ordinary love, mind you, but love nonetheless.

Peter smirked boastfully as Lydia stood bravely, mere inches away from the hissing Kanima. She raised her trembling hand, a metal key held tightly between her whitening fingers as the Kanima reached out it's clawed hand.

The Kanima appeared confused, the human side of it's face frowning as it regarded the object. Slowly, it's claws turned back to nails, it's hide softening to pinkish human flesh the longer it stared at the key and Lydia.

He knew he'd been right to think that Lydia was the only one capable of bringing back the human side of the Kanima. There had never been a moment of doubt.

And now, with the Kanima effectively disarmed, Peter could make his move.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He was trapped. Jackson felt like his skin was too tight and his bones were too short. It wasn't just in his head, anymore. He could sense the change in his body. Jackson was literally caged inside his own meat sack.

Anger. Anger, and rage, and a thirst for blood that shook him to his core, were the only things he could feel. For some inexplicable reason, Jackson wanted to kill every living thing that got in his way.

It didn't matter if it was Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale, or the four remaining members of the Argent family. He would kill everyone. And soon, the city would be his. Soon, he'd have his own pack to lead. Soon, he'd be the Alpha.

But then, the anger faded, replaced by a voice that rung in his ears and chipped away at his heart. He'd heard that voice before. Jackson knew he had. It was so familiar. That tone, that word. He'd heard it before.

“Jackson!” It said, loud and filled with emotions he couldn't begin to quantify.

Through the varying shades of orange, red, and yellow that he saw darting about—large swaths of cold blue and green, like oceans separating land masses—Jackson held onto one shape in particular.

It was the reddest of them all, burning like a fire, not in his eyes, but in his heart.

He forced himself to blink—at least he thought it had been his command that enacted the action, but Jackson couldn't be certain; the voice in his head had left much doubt, even after it had disappeared—as he matched the fiery woman's approach.

Jackson felt the urge to destroy the woman in front of him as the space between them evaporated into nothing. He didn't even know why. He couldn't remember when he'd decided that she was even a woman, but somehow, he knew it was true.

His arm stretched out, ready to slice open her neck, but then her own arm reached up, something bright and blinding held in her hand. It burned Jackson's eyes, but he couldn't force himself to look away.

Something about it was captivating. It stirred up memories and thoughts that he recognized as his own, even as they appeared alien to him.

“Jackson.” She whispered, and he knew it was his name by the way it floated past her lips like a prayer.

 _Lydia,_ He wanted to reply.

That was her name. He was as certain of that as he was of the love scorching through his veins, crushing the walls pushing in on his mind with limitless strength as he slowly regained control over his own body, his identity-based confusion fading away.

He remembered the taste of her lips. The feeling of her skin beneath his hands. The way her tears left black stains across her cheeks and how his heart clenched whenever he'd been the cause.

The key clenched tightly in her palm. He remembered that, too.

 _“Here.”_ He'd told her all that time ago, handing over the metal object rather carelessly as he sidled up beside her in bed. _“It's to the front door.”_

She smelled so good, standing only inches away from him. Lydia always had, to him, even before she'd been truly his to love.

 _“A key to your house?”_ Lydia had asked him, playing coy even as they had both realized the magnitude of the gesture. _“Already?”_

 _“Well,”_ He'd tried to reason at the time. _“It's not a wedding ring.”_ But both of them had known that it meant just as much.

Jackson gasped, his vocal chords feeling tight and disused as he shook away from whatever spell-like trance he'd been in, long enough to properly see Lydia. Her eyes held a smile, even as her lips trembled and her heart slammed wildly against her rib-cage.

His cheeks hurt as they slowly began to rise. He'd never felt so happy in his entire life before, just to be able to see her face once more and bask in her affections. Jackson's hand reached out to touch Lydia's own, trembling fist. Nothing else mattered but her.

As his skin brushed against hers, an agonizing pain bloomed across his back in four aching stab wounds. Lydia was pushed away from him, replaced by Derek Hale, who promptly stabbed his claws through Jackson's stomach as he and the person behind Jackson—who he hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of but somehow knew to be Peter Hale—lifted him off the ground.

Someone screamed, so loud that the earth seemed to shake. The pain was unbearable. It infected every part of him as Jackson noticed a flow of hot, slippery blood begin to pour out of the wounds on either side of his body, sliding past the claws embedded through the flesh.

And then, when the pain had reached it's worst, he fell.

Collapsing onto his knees, Jackson would have fallen all the way to the cold floor if Lydia's warm hands hadn't pressed against his chest and gripped onto his shoulders, holding him upright.

“Do you—” Jackson choked as the blood that wasn't leaving his body, began to strangle his internal organs. “Do you still—”

And by that point, he didn't know if it was his utter lack of strength, or the daunting meaning behind those final words, that stopped him from finishing his question.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Lydia nodded, understanding pinching her features as she surged forward, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace he'd yearned for all along, without even realizing it.

“I do.” She affirmed, her lips moving against his ear as her fingers combed through his hair. “I do still love you.”

As much as it hurt to part from her, Jackson had to look into her eyes one last time before he died. He watched as she tried to be brave for him, but any fool could have noticed the way her angelic face pinched in distress.

“I do, I do, I do.” Lydia nodded vigorously, the words bursting forth in a torrent as her hands tightened around his biceps. “I do still love you.” She promised, the tears finally tearing across her blushing cheeks. “I do.”

He released a weak, truly content smile as the strength sapped away from his body all at once. Jackson was forced to lean on Lydia's shoulder, breathing in her scent as deeply as he could and committing every detail that made her Lydia— _his_ Lydia—to memory.

Jackson didn't even have time to feel afraid before the darkness consumed him. There was a strange light twinkling near the end of the tunnel he slid down that spoke of unfinished business.

A dragon-like creature waited for him on the other side.

**#-#-#-#-#**

After the long, tireless, emotional roller-coaster that the elder Stilinski had gone through trying to find his missing son—who had left the house less than an hour after returning and abandoned his father to a night of unusual boredom—the Sheriff had finally gotten the chance to relax.

The television blared loudly, a random sports game playing as the Sheriff uncapped a beer and took a healthy swig. It helped to calm his nerves as he settled into the couch and pretended not to wait for Stiles' call telling him he was alright.

He'd raised the kid well. Whatever it was that had bothered his red-headed friend and sent him rushing after her, Mr. Stilinski was sure it wasn't dangerous. Romantic, maybe, but it would still hopefully be a while before he'd have to worry about relationship problems regarding his son's limited social life.

“Yeah!” He half-heartedly cheered as the California team scored a touchdown, tying the game. “That a boys. Show 'em how it's done.”

And as the game lapsed into a serene sort of lull, the Sheriff found himself worrying about his son, _again_ , for no good reason. It was a gut feeling he couldn't explain, the kind only a strong emotional bond to another could bring about, that twinged and tickled every now and again. It set his teeth on edge just thinking about it.

The night his wife had died, he'd felt the same way. Only then, he'd ignored it. Now, the Sheriff was hesitant to do the same, no matter how much he wanted to disregard it as nothing.

“Oh Stiles,” He found himself sighing, concerned despite his best efforts not to be. “Where the hell could you be?”

He couldn't sit still. It was physically painful for him to relax on his couch and watch a stupid football game, literally hours after his son had gotten beaten up, and still not know where Stiles had gone in such a hurry.

“Don't meddle.” He had to remind himself as he sat forward on the couch, his hand inches away from taking hold of the cordless phone and dialing Stiles' number. “The kid's probably fine. He just doesn't want his dad embarrassing him with a phone call if he's trying to make out with a girl.” The Sheriff reasoned.

It was enough to set his mind at ease for a while.

Just when he'd started getting interested in the game, keeping score and routing for another California win, Mr. Stilinski heard a very familiar buzz echo through the room.

Instantly, he recognized the sound as his police radio signaling that he had a call waiting. Pushing himself to his feet, the Sheriff grumbled under his breath tiredly as the desire to simply crash on the couch and fall asleep waiting for Stiles to return, nearly overwhelmed his curiosity about the call.

But as he neared the study, where he kept his gun, badge, and radio tucked away from Stiles' greedy hands, Mr. Stilinski couldn't help the nervous anticipation that filled him as he flicked the radio on, pressing down on the button to transmit from his end.

“This is Sheriff Stilinski,” He voiced into the speaker. “10—5.”

Releasing his hold over the transmitter, the Sheriff waited a moment for a reply. Frowning as the seconds stretched into minutes, nothing but grainy static passing through the line, he pressed down again on the transmitter.

“This is Sheriff Stilinski, 10—5, over.” He repeated. 

Again, there was no response.

“You've got to be kidding me.” He muttered angrily, his mind already jumping to the most probable suspects. “If this is a prank, I swear I'll fire all of their asses.” He cursed, holding down the transmitter one last time.

“Deputy Haigh, if this is your idea of a practical joke,” The Sheriff warned, reaching the end of his tolerance. “I can assure you that it's not funny and every person involved will be cut two hours of tonight's salary, as penance.”

Mr. Stilinski waited for apologies and the most sincere grovelling he'd heard since his first year as Sheriff, when he'd had to set the majority of new trainees straight. When the line remained dead, the Sheriff felt a cold pit of dread fall to the base of his stomach.

“Shit.” He hissed through his teeth, shaking the radio in his hand to check if it was even working. “Why can't I ever have a peaceful night off?” Mr. Stilinski asked himself.

Clenching his hand around the small device, the Sheriff took a moment to regulate his erratic breathing. Something was unsettling him to his core, and it wasn't just about the broken radio or the dead kid he'd still have to take interviews for in the morning.

It was in his bones. Like the way he felt when a storm was just peeking past the horizon, within sight, but not quite upon them yet.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” He uttered once he'd finally settled down, speaking plainly. “This is Sheriff Stilinski. This channel is for emergency communication only. It is not open to civilians.” The Sheriff stated.

“I repeat.” He broad-casted patiently when there was no reply. “This is Sheriff Stilinski. This channel is for—”

“Sheriff!” the shrill, barely recognizable voice of one of his rookie deputies filtered through the static. “Thank god you're there. We need backup, quick. Send the whole station down here. Send the army.” The panicked young woman shouted.

“Hang on a minute,” Sheriff Stilinski paused, gathering his thoughts for a moment before he spoke into the radio again. “Deputy, I need you to calm down. Tell me what we're dealing with.” He instructed, twisting his spare hand into a tight fist as his voice remained level.

“It's—” The deputy faltered, her voice crackling. “I don't know, Sheriff. But it's big and fast and it's already taken out three of our cars.” 

“Okay. Can you describe this—this thing?” He pressed, swallowing roughly as he processed the knowledge that whatever the threat was, it had already destroyed three cars.

There was a long pause over the channel before the deputy spoke again. “You're gonna think I'm crazy, Sheriff,” She warned. “But it's...it looks like a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Mr. Stilinski repeated incredulously.

“Yeah,” The deputy shakily agreed, having caught the question that had been meant to be for himself. “I know how this sounds, Sheriff, but you've got to believe me. I'm telling the truth.”

“Alright. No one's calling anyone crazy.” The Sheriff firmly reminded her, licking his suddenly dry lips as he scrambled for something helpful to tell the deputy. “Just get out of there. I'll send in some backup and check this thing out for myself.” He settled for.

“I think that's a bad idea, Sheriff.” The deputy disagreed, shocking Mr. Stilinski both with her even more frightened tone and her blatant disregard for his orders.

“Why's that?” He asked, the words coming out barbed without him meaning for them to.

The deputy ignored the slight. She seemed to have better things to worry about. “Oh my god, it's coming back.” She whispered over the radio, panic spiking her pitch. “Oh god, it's getting closer!” The deputy cried out. “I've got to go. I'm sorry, Sheriff. I've got to leave. I have to—”

A loud, ear-piercing screech cut across the channel as the deputies words were cut off mid-sentence. A cold sweat began at the nape of the Sheriff's neck as the radio fell out of his hands.

He numbly walked out of the room, making his way back over to the television with gradually increasing haste. What he saw reflecting back at him through the screen, scared the wits straight out of him.

Sirens and bright lights flashed across the television from shaky news cameras. Buildings nearby lay in half-demolished heaps as fire hydrants shot torrents of water out onto the street and cars parked along the side of the road appeared crumbled and slightly burned. The _'Welcome to Beacon Hills'_ sign the Sheriff had always loved, lay in a twisted heap, peeking out from under a line of neatly trimmed hedges.

But all of that destruction and mayhem wasn't what made the Sheriff's blood run cold and forced his legs to go numb as he sat heavily onto the couch, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

The winged beast clothed in armor-like scales, with talons as long as a person and teeth sharp enough to bite through the solid metal lamp posts in it's way, did that all on it's own.

“What the hell is wrong with this town?” The Sheriff asked himself as his head dropped into his hands.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't want an answer if it meant understanding why there was a literal dragon tearing up his city, block by block.

Some things were better off unknown.


	13. Endgame Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, we've reached the finale. I've decided to divide it into two chapters because it was originally one enormous chapter and I thought it would be easier to digest if I split it up. Just a warning that the finale has some frightening scenes, gore, and character death. 
> 
> On that happy note, here's an early Christmas Gift for you all. ;)
> 
> Vanessa <3

They'd failed. Each and every one of them had failed.

The plan didn't matter anymore, even if it had been the only thing to not backfire in Scott's face. Now, it was irrelevant.

And all because of Derek and Peter. It had been their impatience and fear that had trampled over Jackson's moment of clarity as Lydia had forced his humanity to resurface. In a way, what was to come would be their faults.

Scott shook his head, trying to brush away the trepidation he felt every time he so much as glanced in the direction of the wall across from him. It wasn't so much a wall, now, as it was a giant hole in the shape of the winged creature that the Kanima had transformed into. If he looked past it, into the distant horizon of abandoned warehouses just outside the town's limits, Scott could swear he could still see the dragon-like body of the Kanima as it clumsily flew towards the heart of Beacon Hills.

He knew what would happen when it reached it's destination. Scott shivered as he imagined the destruction, the screams, the falling buildings and dying people. It would be a nightmare. A massacre.

 _I have to stop it._ Scott realized grimly, his shoulders straightening out of the defeated hunch they had fallen into, and his fists clenching by his sides as Scott swept his eyes around the assembled group that was still at each other's throats, in a slightly more metaphorical way. _We have to stop it_.

He twisted his jaw nervously, his ears picking up the hostile voices and speedy heartbeats, looking for an opportunity to interrupt. But first, he had to be certain about one thing.

“Stiles,” Scott whispered to his best friend, who was standing conveniently beside him, rubbing at his forehead like he was developing a migraine. “We're good, right? You're still with me on this?”

He needed to know that the boy who was like a brother in every way but blood, would be standing by his side as he undertook the impossible task laid out for them. Scott could convince the others, he could be the leader they all looked to for the hard decisions, as long as Stiles Stilinski had his back.

Looking up, Stiles' bloodshot eyes connected with Scott's. His friend was tired, that much was obvious, and the sinister bruises framing his eyes and the bottom of his jaw spoke of a physical harm that Scott hadn't been aware of until then. A flare of protective anger caught in Scott's stomach, forcing it to tighten painfully.

“Yeah, you know I am.” Stiles firmly replied, jarring Scott out of his rapidly returning hatred for the most likely person to have hurt Stiles—Gerard Argent. “Besides, there's gotta be someone here that can keep the rest of you sane.” He tried to joke.

Scott smiled, not really feeling the humor of it as Adrianna and Isaac's approaching figures drew his attention away from the stare-down going on between Allison and Derek.

They were speaking in light voices, worried expressions marring their features. Scott couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew it could only have been about two things. Gerard, or the Kanima, the former of which Scott hadn't seen since the last battle with the Kanima's beta form.

Adrianna's sharp gaze flicked over to Scott, narrowing slightly as she noticed how intently he was focused on them. Disentangling her hand from where it was clutched within Isaac's, Adrianna pressed her lips shut once they were within earshot.

“Is everything okay?” He automatically wondered, forcing himself not to cringe even as the words rung hollow and false in the air.

Adrianna snorted, rolling her eyes. “You're kidding, right? Things are about as far away from okay as they can get.” She retorted hotly. “We're so screwed.” Adrianna added in a lower voice, raspy with an emotion that he might have thought to be fear, if Scott didn't know her as well as he did.

This was something different. She was angry—her fiery gaze and unusually flushed cheeks told him that much—but she wasn't angry at him. Not when she could look him in the eye with such intensity that Scott shuffled on the spot.

“That's got to be the most accurate statement I've heard all day.” Peter Hale chimed in, lifting his foot away from where it had been stomping over the unconscious body of a random hunter. Scott doubted the man was alive any more. “Tell me, Scott, what is it that you planned on doing after you took out Gerard. Or did you not think that far ahead?” He mocked relentlessly.

Scott glanced between Adrianna—who was standing as rigid as he'd ever seen her, the sharp smell of her surprisingly clean blood invading his nostrils as her nails dug into her palms—and a very smug, slightly pissed Peter. Abruptly, as Isaac's hand found Adrianna's once more; not to support her, but to subtly hold her back from tearing into the recently revived Hale; the pieces clicked into place.

He should have seen it sooner.

“ _Our_ plan was flawless,” Adrianna pronounced in a near growl. “And if I remember correctly, it's the only reason that Gerard wasn't able to kill Derek and enslave each wolf here under his brutal command.”

“True enough,” Peter's brows rose in dark amusement as he relished in Adrianna's spite. “But whatever it was able to do, the most important part of the whole damn thing, couldn't be stopped. The Kanima's mutated into it's strongest form. Good luck stopping it now.”

Derek and Chris, who hadn't really been listening in on the argument until then, tuned into the conversation as Peter's voice rose in exasperation. Scott idly noted that Allison had yet to look away from Derek. She had a freakish focus, almost like she was shooting lasers into his back, or, more likely, drawing targets.

He didn't have as much time to feel disturbed about that as he should have, because the banter between Peter and Adrianna continued on regardless of what he thought.

“Listen honey,” Adrianna drawled with false sweetness, the strain between Isaac's grip on her wrist becoming apparent as the muscles in her arms pulled taut, her dark blue veins rising to the surface. “I'm not the one responsible for destroying every last vestige of hope that there was for Jackson to regain control and destroy the Kanima on his own. I'm not the one that screwed up, here.”

“Oh,” Peter's eyes light up with manic fire. His teeth seemed longer when he spoke, almost like he was on the verge of unleashing his wolf form. “So this is all my fault, now? You're really going to put all of the blame on me?” He demanded of her. “If you want to play that game, you should really be wary of the blood on your own hands, before you go accusing other people of their mistakes.”

Adrianna balked, stepping into Isaac's chest as she moved away from Peter. Her wet gaze glistened for a second before her features hardened into solid marble; cold and unforgiving.

“I may have taken lives before, and my hands are as drenched in red as anyone else's,” She admitted, her back still firmly pressed against Isaac's front. “But at least I never killed family for power.”

Scott remembered Laura Hale even as Isaac and Allison appeared confused. The body in the woods that he and Stiles had trekked out to find. The murder that had started it all. Peter's lips rose in a snarl. Adrianna glared back evenly. Scott felt a sliver of chilling dread stab his heart as Derek stared at his uncle with renewed hurt. Chris appeared to try to stay neutral, even as he glanced in Scott's direction.

Just like before, he could feel it as the battle lines were painted down with invisible ink. If he didn't do something fast, they'd tear each other apart before they even had a chance to save Jackson from the monster he'd become, for the second time.

“Okay, that's enough.” Scott interceded, his words coming out raspy and quieter than he'd intended.

“Enough?” Peter mimed, his feral gaze sliding over to Scott for a moment. “No, we're just getting started.” Stretching his arm out towards Adrianna, Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he went on, trampling over any attempts Scott could have made to salvage the situation. “This girl is Kate's daughter and the only reason she's here is to get her revenge. I doubt Kate would be a very good mother, so I'm betting you were raised by Gerard. Am I right?” He wondered offhandedly as Scott noticed Adrianna's skin draining of it's healthy flush, turning white as a sheet.

Her lip pinched between her teeth as raw hatred burned in her eyes. Scott had the sudden desire to warn Peter of the possible consequences to his prodding, but he thought better of it when Adrianna's harsh gaze slid over to him for a moment, freezing his insides solid.

“I'm gonna take that as a yes.” Peter recklessly assumed as Adrianna remained silent. There was something cold and stale in the air around them. It reminded Scott of death. “So, being raised by the leader of the Argents means that she's been trained for one perfect reason—” Peter paused dramatically. “To kill werewolves.”

The information floated around in Scott's head. He'd always known it, but hearing it out loud made it that much more real. Across from him, Scott saw Allison's expression sour even further. It was almost like, instead of fearing her cousin for her brutal knowledge, she envied her.

“So?” Isaac voiced through the hush, his tone sounding slightly offended. “What does that prove?” He went on, gaining confidence with each word, even as Peter tried to intimidate him with his stare. “We all knew who she was the moment we met her. Sure, she's got a bit of a dark side and she makes mistakes, but don't we all? It doesn't make her a bad person.”

Peter had the audacity to laugh, loud and deep as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You actually think you know who she is?” He growled after he'd managed to catch his breath. “Even if you have gotten to know her, that doesn't mean that you've seen every shameful secret and dangerous habit. She could still be hiding things from you, and that's not even getting into _what_ she is.”

“Don't you dare.” Adrianna snarled out of nowhere, her voice echoing inside the warehouse and amplifying. There was evident anger, hot and barely restrained, but it was the undercurrents of alarm and indignity that surprised Scott most.

She was hiding something, clinging to her secret's disguise with a desperate strength Scott didn't think she had in her. And Peter, it seemed, knew what the truth was.

“Adrianna's a hunter.” Chris evenly interrupted, stepping away from Allison to stand closer to the group where tensions were on the rise. “And sometimes, that means that she's a killer.” He shared, undiluted honesty rasping his words. “But other times, it means that she's a hero.”

Scott thought about those words. Killer. Hero. So different, he would have thought that in anyone else, they would never have been present at the same time. Yet, with Adrianna, the contradiction worked. She was good and bad at the same time. Cruel and compassionate. Loving and gentle, but so filled with hate, that Scott wondered if it would soon consume everything else that made her who she was.

But still, the nagging understanding that Scott had yet to find out what she was—because it had already been clearly established that she wasn't human—remained at the back of Scott's mind, fogging all of his other thoughts until it was all that remained.

“Right!” Peter unexpectedly agreed with Chris. “She's a killer, and judging from what I've seen and personally felt from Kate, there's a particular brand of psychosis that runs in the family.” He bluntly stated, oblivious to, or totally ignoring the way every Argent's posture stiffened as they each collectively reached for their weapons. “What's to say that, one day, she won't snap, just like her mother did? What's stopping her from burning the house down around all of us?”

“Nothing.” Derek echoed his uncle's position, frowning as he stared at Adrianna, shuffling towards Peter so that his alliance to the man was openly known.

Scott, much like everyone else, looked to Adrianna for answers. As much as he didn't want to pry into her no doubt painful past, he had to know that his trust in her had not been misplaced. More importantly, he needed to know if she trusted him, at all.

“When my mother set your home on fire,” Adrianna began thickly, stepping away from Isaac so that she was standing on her own against them all. “When Kate killed your family,” Adrianna's stare locked with Derek for a moment, intense and completely unapologetic, despite the meaning behind her words. “She wasn't crazy.”

Scott could hear his heart in his ears. He shook his head, trying to understand the picture Adrianna had painted. It was like one of those optical illusions, where you knew there was something cohesive hidden inside the pattern, but you just couldn't figure out how you had to look at it, to see it.

Adrianna's voice lowered as her eyes took on a faraway sheen to them. “That came much later.” She seemed to recall the exact moment, her hands tightening even more and her brows pinching, but didn't elaborate any further.

“I don't get it.” Scott dumb-foundedly stated. “You're saying that Kate knew what she was doing when she started that fire?” Even to his own ears, the words sounded unusual, verging on insane.

Derek and Peter were strangely silent. They seemed to be just as perplexed by the information as the rest of them, although Peter looked like he had more knowledge to base Adrianna's claims on, than anyone else. The fact that Peter didn't dispute Adrianna's words, forced a chill up Scott's spine because it meant that even he could see truth hidden behind her raw admission.

“I'm saying,” Adrianna replied, her characteristically shrewd green eyes landing on him and burning the skin as though she could see into his soul. “That you don't have to be psychotic to be a killer. You just need a reason.”

And for some unnerving reason, Scott got the feeling that she wasn't just talking about Kate.

“In case you've forgotten, Peter.” Adrianna's feet pivoted much like a ballerina's as she turned to face the man in question, her once fragile smile turning coy and harmful. “You've given me plenty.”

Peter swallowed thickly. For the first time ever, Scott thought he saw a glimmer of well-placed hesitation and possibly fear flashing in the older man's gaze, but in the next instant, it was gone. The two of them were nearly a match for each other in the art of deception. Scott dreaded to think what would happen if they decided to kill each other, and who would win.

“Well, that's insightful and all,” Stiles sarcastically said, his words grounding Scott and reminding him what the real objective was. “But I don't see how it's going to stop the Kanima and save Jackson.”

Scott noticed his best friend's stare flick over to Lydia, who he'd nearly forgotten in the hazy after-effects of the battle. She nodded her head, makeup streaking her pale cheeks as she seemed to hiccup. If Scott hadn't been so surprised about her actual acknowledgment of Stiles, he would have felt the hard pit of guilt that dropped into his stomach with greater acuity.

“Okay, you're right.” Scott lightly responded to Stiles, feeling his insides beginning to shiver as he stepped up to the open plate of team leader. “Peter, Derek; I need you to fill everyone in on what you were able to learn about the Kanima's new form.” He ordered with more strength in his voice.

“I'm pretty sure all of our ammo has been used up and we could definitely use some time to gather our strength.” He thought to himself, biting his lip as he understood the possible consequence a break might mean for Beacon Hills and it's population. But Scott also knew that, without time to recharge from their first battle, his assortment of wolves and hunters wouldn't stand a chance against the monstrous creature the Kanima had turned into. “We'll regroup at the animal hospital. Hopefully, Deaton will have some insights that'll help us find a way to save Jackson.”

 _If it isn't already too late,_ he silently added as the faces of friends and enemies alike, stared back at him, absorbing his instructions readily.

“Sounds good to me.” Isaac was the first to chip in his opinion, moving to stand beside Scott and Stiles.

“My father's responsible for unleashing that monster.” Chris spoke for himself and Allison as he slid his pistol into it's holster on his outer thigh. “I have a responsibility to stop it.” Together, the father-daughter duo stepped forward, ready to follow Scott.

Peter and Derek shared a glance. A silent conversation passed between them before they turned to Scott. “What the hell,” Derek gruffly exclaimed. “Why not?”

Nodding his head in satisfaction, Scott's gaze drifted over to Adrianna, who was the last of them yet to make up her mind. “This is wrong.” She told him, her chin tilting so that she could look out at the hole in the wall where the Kanima had broken free. “I've hunted things like this before. Waiting is a mistake. You'll only give it more time to wreak destruction and death across this town.”

“What choice do I have?” Scott shot back as calmly as he could, even when he felt a nagging panic blossom within him, urging him to listen to Adrianna's advice. “We don't know what we're up against yet. If we go out there now, we're flying blind.”

“I know what we're up against.” Adrianna kept her stare firmly on Scott. Her palms rested on the handles of her long hunting knives. “And if you give it the chance, if you wait too long, there won't be anything left of Beacon Hills for you to save.”

“You can go out if you want to. No one's stopping you.” He reminded her, carefully hiding the fear of going into a battle without one of his best fighters and strategists, which pinched every exposed nerve in his body. “I have to take the risk.” He explained, hoping uselessly that he could persuade her to join him one last time. “Jackson doesn't have that many chances at being saved. I don't want to blow this just because I rushed in, unprepared.”

Adrianna didn't move, her face the perfect mask of indifferent consideration. “Okay,” She suddenly agreed, something sinister lurking in her carefully blank gaze. “For Jackson.”

Scott didn't know what kind of connection Adrianna had with Jackson, but it was apparent by the way that Isaac's brows rose, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips, that it was stronger than anyone had imagined.

Allison and Chris walked out of the warehouse first, starting up one of the abandoned hunter's cars outside and screeching off towards the veterinary clinic. Derek and Peter split off in separate directions, presumably they were going to run all the way, which wasn't big news to Scott as—super-speed accounted for—he could have done the same thing and still beaten the cars.

Stiles climbed into his jeep, Adrianna stepping in behind him as he started the engine after a few unsuccessful attempts. It was then that Scott realized Lydia was still standing there, only a few feet in front of the blue, beaten up car Stiles illogically treasured, her fist clenched tightly around the very same key she'd offered to Jackson.

“Lydia,” He started, gulping and starting again as his mouth ran dry. “Uh, maybe you should go home. We can drop you off on the way, if you want?” Scott suggested.

It took a moment for the red-head to react to Scott's words, turning so that she faced them. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw that Stiles and Adrianna were both watching the exchange closely.

“Home?” Lydia uttered brokenly, the first sound she'd made since Jackson had died in her arms and then transformed into the winged creature he was now.

“Yeah,” Scott tentatively nodded his head, watching as Lydia's gaze became moist, tears threatening to fall. “It'll be safer for you if you don't get caught in the middle of this.” He explained.

Lydia frowned, her fine brows pinching together and forming a set of worried lines across her forehead. “Safer...” She repeated quietly, testing the word out on her tongue.

“Scott, I don't think that's a good idea.” Stiles hesitantly added, his voice shredding in some places as he seemed to try to keep his emotions for Lydia at bay and away from the conversation. “She wants to help.” He finished shortly, never breaking his stare away from Lydia, although she was staring at the floor in an unfocused sort of trance.

“You think we should let her?” Scott couldn't help retorting with more force than he'd wanted. Too many good people had already been hurt because he'd let them help. Lydia couldn't be one of them. He knew, even without having to ask, that Stiles would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

As Stiles pressed his lips together firmly, resolutely trying to hide the anguish Scott knew to be just beneath the surface, it was Adrianna that spoke. “Yes.” She simply replied to Scott's question. “I think we should.”

The youngest Argent didn't look away from where she was glaring heatedly out of the Jeep's front windshield and Scott thought he knew why. Ever since Lydia had poisoned all of them with wolf'sbane for her birthday party, there had been unusual distance between Adrianna and the red-head. Scott himself could still feel the slight sting of betrayal, even though he hadn't been, and still wasn't particularly close friends with Lydia. He could only imagine the hurt it would have caused an emotionally-estranged huntress like Adrianna, when one of her only friends had stabbed her in the back.

And yet, there Adrianna was, undeniably defending Lydia.

It puzzled Scott so profoundly, he didn't have time to come up with a rebuttal before Lydia did so for him, gathering herself up with strength and bravery he'd never expected from her, and holding back her tears with an eerie calm mask as her lips ceased their trembling.

“Jackson—” Lydia started, her voice cracking before she tried again. “I can't go home now. Not when _he_ needs me.” She nearly whined, her expression betraying just how little control she'd hastily managed to gain over her feelings. “Not when I might be the only one left that can still reach him inside that thing.”

Scott shivered as he thought about the monster Jackson had become. How little hope they all had of stopping it. Still, Scott had to try. He wasn't totally naive. He knew it wasn't likely that they'd be able to save Jackson, but he owed it to his own sense of noble humanity which he'd clung to like a life-line ever since he'd stopped being human, to try his very best.

“He loves me.” She assured Scott, several fat, shiny tears dripping down her already glistening cheeks. “Jackson loves me and I love him.” Lydia fiercely re-enforced. “You have to let me help him. He's in there, somewhere. I know he is...he has to be.” She finished lowly, her hand reaching up to press against her chest.

There was a big part of Scott that wanted to say no. He wanted to explain just how much danger Lydia would be putting herself in. How she wasn't ready for it—not trained or prepared in any way, shape, or form for the power, speed, agility, and sheer deadliness that Kanima's new form could possibly dish out.

But then Scott thought about himself and Allison. He loved her and he knew, somewhere trapped beneath the layers of brainwashing Gerard had inflicted on her, that Allison still loved him, too.

There wasn't anything that Scott wouldn't do for her. He'd run into a fire, stand between her and a bullet; he'd even give her up, if it meant that she was safe and happy again.

And Lydia—sweet, innocent, fragile, not really human, Lydia—was just trying to do the same thing for Jackson.

“Okay,” Scott eventually said, hoping beyond reason that he wasn't making the biggest mistake of the night as he climbed into the front seat of the Jeep, beside Stiles. “Get in, we've got to bring you up to speed.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

There had been a time when Adrianna would have enjoyed watching Beacon Hills—the town that had ruined so many lives, including her mother's—burned and reduced to rubble.

But now that she'd actually spent some time there, Adrianna could readily admit that all she felt was hollow dread at the prospect of watching another one of Gerard's plans devastate everything in it's way.

Unrolling the schematics and blue-prints Chris had helpfully provided across a stainless steel operating table, Adrianna tried to tune out the voices already screaming in her head. Death was closer than ever, all around her, nearly suffocating her. It followed the Alpha Kanima wherever it went, leaving it's stench to seep into the concrete buildings and roads.

“Right now, the Kanima is here.” Adrianna pointed to a spot on the map comprised of mainly abandoned manufacturing plants, dotted with storage buildings and lots, a handful of miles away from the warehouse they'd all left behind. “It's only a few minutes away from the downtown core, and when it gets there, what it's done so far is going to look like child's play.” She warned as Deaton approached, placing round, smooth-looking stones on each corner of the map so that it didn't curl back in on itself.

“What do you suggest we do?” Derek wondered, crossing his arms over his chest and hiding some of the bloody slashes in his shirt as he did so. “Basing our attack on a hunch that it's going towards the city doesn't seem like a good idea.” He sourly added.

“Well,” Adrianna stood away from the table, her shoulders rolling backwards, popping and cracking in complaint. “If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it.”

“Yes Derek,” Peter Hale's drawling, silky smooth, covertly barraging voice chimed, causing the hairs on Adrianna's arms to stand on end and a muscle in her jaw to twitch irately. “Why don't you tell us what this brilliant, alternate plan is, or shut your mouth?” Acid dripped from his words as he still appeared to be holding a grudge with Derek for killing him.

Not that Adrianna cared. As Peter Hale's fingers danced across her shoulder when he passed her—casually inserting himself into the group gathered around the map—all that Adrianna could focus on was the cold, churning hatred in her gut, and how good it would feel when she finally got the chance to choke the life out of her mother's murderer.

“Shut up.” Derek growled angrily, but didn't say anymore.

“Peter,” Scott voiced from where he'd been carefully watching the exchange. “Why don't you fill us in on what you learned about the Kanima?” He ordered, more than suggested.

Despite the sickening rage burning in Adrianna's veins, an amused smirk curled her lips as Peter frowned but acquiesced to Scott's words. “I suppose you all know how it was created and why?” Peter loftily asked them, moving onwards even when he didn't get a reply. “The important part is that, once the master and servant strengthen their bond, the Kanima's purpose is moot. It doesn't have to conform to the rules. That's why Matt and Gerard were able to kill people that weren't murderers.” He told them.

Adrianna frowned, her chin twitching as the urge to shake her head in dismay nearly overcame her. She was about to point out how vague and repetitive Peter's explanation was, before Allison beat her to it.

“We already know that.” Allison roughly pushed her way through the loose circle that everyone had assembled in around the table which held all the maps, her elbows digging into Adrianna's side as she stood beside and slightly in front of her. “There was a South-American legend that I found in my family's bestiary that clarified why the Kanima killed all those people.”

“The Argent bestiary—” Peter smiled nefariously. “Nothing can match it's vast knowledge on almost all things known to exist in the supernatural world. Although, when I was young, we called it something different.” He steepled his fingers together in front of his chest. “Tell me, dear Allison, you wouldn't happen to know where this _bestiary_ is at the moment, would you?” He pronounced the word as though it was foreign and part of an inside joke that only he and Adrianna could understand as he winked in her direction, which it most probably was.

“The Physiologus isn't for sale, Peter.” Adrianna quickly interrupted before Allison's greedy desire to prove herself ruined more than it already had. “And even if it was, I would never let you of all people, have it.”

“Now that name certainly rings a bell,” Peter obliviously rambled on. “Physiologus.” He pronounced it with reverence. “It seems you're the one I need to talk to if I want to get my hands on it, then.” He realized.

“Good luck with that,” Allison couldn't seem to help daring him. Although her voice managed to remain frosty and detached at first, her shoulders stiff in front of Adrianna's, it only took a moment for it to simmer and revealed how she truly felt. “I'll be damned if you take anything else from my family.”

Her cousin launched forward and for one, blissful, terrifying moment, Adrianna thought about letting Allison fight Peter. Where she couldn't unleash her own horrifying version of justice, Allison appeared to have no qualms about doing so, herself.

And then, Adrianna found Peter's steely, infuriatingly arrogant gaze, and she knew that she couldn't permit her cousin to injure Peter or herself, while the werewolf was still useful to them.

Her hand clamped around Allison's arm like solid steel. Her legs tensed and her feet braced for the jarring pull that she received as Allison's momentum was suddenly halted.

“Let go of me!” Allison cried indignantly as she struggled to break free, inches away from sinking her stubby, chipped fingernails into Peter's intolerable grin. “He killed Kate! Don't you remember? Don't you care?” She shrilly demanded.

Adrianna twisted her hold over Allison to avoid her cousin's well-placed elbow, stepping around the various stomps and kicks that nearly collided with her shins on several occasions.

“Of course I care.” Adrianna couldn't stop herself from bellowing, her face growing warm as she began to lose control over her manufactured calm. “Don't you ever forget that, no matter who she loved or didn't, she was _my mother._ ” Adrianna's voice strained and a vein tugged to the surface on her neck as she stared into her cousin's manic gaze for the first time since they'd fought each other. “Remember what that feels like?”

Allison grew silent, a sliver of light seeming to break through the ominous clouds hiding her conscious thoughts away from her furious, impulsive desires. “You're not alone in this.” She pressed, ignoring the other prying eyes as she tried to siphon reason into her cousin's twisted mind. “You've never been the only one to lose people.”

She remembered the first few days after she'd lost Kate. Adrianna had been a wreck, susceptible, more than ever, to Gerard's manipulations. At the time, it had been Scott and the others that had drawn back the curtain and showed her that there was more to living than just searching for revenge. That she was allowed to mourn for her mother.

Perhaps Allison needed that same reassurance. Perhaps all she really needed, was a friend; someone to tell her that they understood—that they had her back, no matter what.

But then, as Adrianna's message sunk in, Allison's reflective brown eyes hardened and sealed off.

“You'll never understand.” Allison broke away from Adrianna, rubbing at her wrist balefully. “You betrayed your family—you destroyed our grandfather—and for what?” She demanded raspily, her accusing finger whirling around the room to point at Isaac Lahey, who'd been quietly standing beside Scott and Stiles since the moment they'd all piled into the veterinary clinic. “For a boy?”

There were a thousand things Adrianna could have said; things she wanted to say. But none of them would help Allison. It was clear to her now that Allison didn't want anything to do with her. She didn't want to be understood. She wanted to be the best, to achieve and surpass everyone's expectations of her, and the only way to do that—Adrianna knew from experience—was to separate yourself from your competition.

Unfortunately, Adrianna knew that _she_ was her cousin's competition.

“Yes.” She settled on saying instead, her tone clipped and just as final as her thoughts had settled out to be. “All of it for a boy.”

But it wasn't the boy that Allison had accused. No, Isaac Lahey wasn't the reason she'd turned her back on everything she'd ever known, leaping into the unknown to follow a cause her heart didn't quite understand, even now.

“Are you in love with him? Is that what you think?” Allison caustically demanded, her lips curling in disgust even as she glanced over at Scott. “Well, I'll promise you this, love isn't all it's chalked up to be. You're better off without it. It makes you weak and vulnerable; it spreads like a cancer through you and poisons every part of you until there's nothing left but the utter fragility and weakness.”

“Allison,” Scott brokenly muttered, his words catching in his throat when she turned away from him.

“Stay out of this, Scott!” She rumbled thunderously, rounding on him as her messy, ink colored hair fell in front of her enraged features. “I told you to get out my way before, and I meant it.”

“That's enough.” Chris interceded, moving forward to grab hold of the arm Adrianna had used to hold Allison back and using it to pull her away from the group. “Control yourself. You're mother wouldn't want this.” He insisted.

Allison frowned, pouting slightly as she remained on the side-lines with her father, but did not complain any more. Despite the fact that no one was telling her to elaborate further, Adrianna felt as though she needed to share the real reason why she'd abandoned Gerard.

Beyond his cruelty, her short-comings, the innocence she'd learned some werewolves still possessed, and the compassion she'd finally been able to embrace in small but very potent quantities, was one boy.

He had started it all.

One boy and one bite. 

“I did it for Jackson Whittemore.” Adrianna exclaimed as Scott took over her position near the map, tracing out the Kanima's possible routes through the city's heart. “And it had nothing to do with love.” She went on to say as the others stopped talking to listen to her.

Adrianna was extremely aware of Lydia's curious presence across the room, catching snippets of their conversations as she tried to overcome her shock and fear. She was staring directly at her when Adrianna looked over her shoulder.

Their eyes connected, hazel on green.

“Jackson wasn't mine to love.” She explained gently. “He was mine to protect.”

Lydia nodded her head slightly, her eyes finally dry of tears even as she sniffled. Adrianna felt her insides unclench slightly as she understood that the divide between the girl she'd become friends with first, out of all of the others, had finally been breached and started to mend.

“I couldn't stand by and watch as Gerard killed another creature he didn't entirely understand.” Adrianna found Allison's flickering gaze and held onto it. “Too many innocent, weak, harmless people have died because of our grandfather's quest for eternal life and power.” She whispered. “I couldn't let Jackson be next.”

Allison didn't contradict her, but she didn't apologize, either. There was still much work yet to be done on her older cousin. Still so much damage that had yet to be repaired. It would be a long time before they could look each other in the eyes and not find an ounce of hate or envy.

But when the time came, Adrianna swore that she would be there, just like Scott, Melissa, and even Lydia and Stiles had been there for her.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Isaac had been left reeling. He couldn't believe, as hard as he tried, that it hadn't been his name slipping past Adrianna's lips as she bared her heart to her cousin.

Everything had pointed towards it being him. He'd stood by her since the beginning. In a way, he'd always thought it had been her mercy towards him when they'd first met that had lit the match towards her rebellion.

But he'd been wrong.

In a dramatic, corny, devastatingly pathetic way, Isaac had been completely certain that he—and he alone—had been the one responsible for taming the wild beast that was Adrianna Argent.

Only, that honor seemed to belong to Jackson Whittemore, the spoiled rich brat he'd once called a next-door neighbor, who not once in the ten years they'd lived across from each other, called the cops on his father's abuse.

Even though he tried his very best to remain unemotional and stay helpful to Scott as he laid out the new plan, Isaac could feel the jealous anger eating away inside him as it seemed to fry his brain.

“Guys,” Stiles abruptly told them, his eyes glued to the phone held tightly in both of his hands. “You've got to see this.”

Frowning, Isaac and Scott traded confused glances before joining the small crowd surrounding Stiles to see what all the fuss was about. On the small screen, a typical news reporter at a desk read out grim headlines.

Just as Isaac sighed heavily, about to set aside Stile's hyperactive hoax, Adrianna's figure catching in the corner of his eyes like a gloomy shadow as she refused to congregate around the tiny piece of technology, the words that the salt and pepper haired reporter were saying became clear to him.

“And now, we go to our field reporter located in Beacon Hills, California.” The middle-aged man intoned seriously. “Tamara Jones at the heart of the mayhem, for you. Tamara, tell us what you see.” He asked as a live feed appeared on the side of the screen.

Isaac held his breath as a picture of a very familiar street came into focus, the camera wobbling slightly as lamps flickered overhead and a blonde woman crouched behind a parked van.

“Are we still rolling?” The woman shrilly questioned, glancing into the camera before creeping along the van's side to peek out from behind it.

“Yeah,” A body-less voice informed the woman as the camera was re-positioned again, almost as though the man holding the camera had stood up. “We're on.”

“Okay,” The reporter Isaac remembered was called Tamara, muttered to herself, straightening her suit jacket before lifting herself off her knees, moving several feet away from the safety of the van. “James, I don't know if you're getting this but I'm here. We're, uh, just outside the county's sheriff department.” She supplied nervously, craning her neck to look behind herself before continuing.

“Something's happening here. There's some kind of terror attack.” Tamara pressed a hand to the side of her head and Isaac noticed a wire snaking past her neck into her ear. “Um, so far there have been several explosions and quakes. The path of destruction seems to be coming from outside the city's limits, but at the moment, we don't have an exact source.” She listed carefully, in a trained, precise manner.

“Witnesses that I've spoken to claim to,” Here, the reporter stuttered, her brows pinching as she whispered something unintelligible to the man holding the camera. “Well, they seem to think that some sort of animal is causing this.” She finished uncertainly.

“An animal?” The desk reporter on the other half of the screen wondered, pushing his glasses further up onto his nose as he appeared confused. “Can you be any more specific?”

“Not really, James.” Tamara replied quickly. “A hazy cloud of ashes and fog seems to have descended over much of the city. Several old buildings have collapsed as a result of the tremors. No one can get a clear look at the thing.”

Isaac's heart jumped in his throat as an ear-piercing shriek echoed through the phone, vibrating all the way to his bones. “Is this live?” He couldn't help asking Stiles, who simply nodded in response.

Looking past the reporter, Isaac could see no fog or ashes. The station was in clear view, just as he could clearly make out the giant, winged dragon racing past in a blur of shiny scales as it slammed into the sheriff's station and then flew out the other side.

The crash was heart-stopping. Something started to ring in Isaac's ears as he watched the brick building collapse in on itself, frightened and pain-filled screams echoed through the feed.

He hardly noticed when the screen went black.

“Oh my god.” Isaac distantly heard Scott say, a hand pressed to his temples as he stepped away.

“We have to stop that thing,” Derek realized for all of them. “Before it's too late.”

“Stop it?” Lydia squeaked. “What the hell is it?”

“Screw this,” Peter replied definitively as he moved to walk away. “I'm leaving.”

“If we work together,” Chris reminded them all, trying to raise his voice above the panicked, clamorous shouting. “We can save everybody. We still have a chance.”

“A chance?” Allison scoffed. “We don't have a chance in hell.”

“Watch your language.” Chris quickly chastised her, only for Allison to roll her eyes and shake her head.

“Yeah,” She mumbled beneath her breath. “Whatever.”

“Now, if everyone could just settle down,” Deaton attempted to bring order back into the chaotic frenzy. “We can deal with this like civilized people; make a plan to stop Jackson and minimize casualties.” But no matter how loudly the dark-skinned vet shouted, no one listened to him.

Isaac felt his palms sweating as nervous anticipation clenched his heart. He didn't know what to do. He looked to Scott, as he'd been doing more and more recently, but the shaggy-haired boy that had served as a make-shift leader up until then, appeared just as confused and devastated as everyone else.

“Alright, that's enough.” A clear, slightly patronizing voice echoed throughout the room, drawing Isaac's attention over to where Adrianna had slammed her hand into the metal table, a fist-sized dent left behind as she stretched out her fingers across the slightly crumbled map. “Everyone, shut up!” She roared when some of the chatter continued.

All at once, silence echoed, loud and strange on Isaac's ears, throughout the room. Scott and Chris looked embarrassed—much the way Isaac imagined he did, too—while Allison, Derek, and Peter simply pushed their anger and frustration beneath the surface so that all of their gazes sizzled when they landed on Adrianna.

Unsurprisingly, the huntress that meant much more than she should have to Isaac, didn't flinch.

“Good, that's much better.” She quietly continued, her tone still dripping with deprecating amusement as she dragged her long, chipped nails across the stainless steel surface of the table. “Now that we've all calmed down a little bit, let's set aside the all-consuming terror and focus on our goal.” Adrianna instructed calmly.

Reaching into her pocket, Adrianna produced a slim, blue USB chip, and held it out between her fingers. “Panicking, while I can assure you that I'm aware of how difficult it is to deny, will not help us whatsoever in this moment.” She went on to say, her heels clacking across the tile floors as she slowly carved out a space in the midst of the barely restrained crowd. “Planning is what we should be doing. Not tearing into each other like a pack of rabid wolves—” Adrianna smiled, her canines shining sharply in the fluorescent lighting. “Pun intended.” 

Isaac shuffled where he stood, licking his lips uncomfortably as he gauged the other's reactions. Most of them were listening, albeit grudgingly (except for Allison), but Deaton seemed to have an especially keen interest in her speech. He looked at her like he was studying her. It set a muscle in Isaac's jaw to twitching before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to care.

“What exactly do you suggest?” The vet questioned apathetically, his raised eyebrow the only sign of his actual intrigue. “To create a plan we need information. Is this something you can provide us with?” He wondered, almost as if he was baiting her.

Adrianna grinned, her eyelids slanting so that she looked more cat-like than ever, although Isaac knew that if she was any kind of feline, she was definitely a lion. “You could say that, doc.” Adrianna casually replied, the computer chip sliding between her fingers in much the same way as she often twirled her knives, dipping and twisting.

“This here, as I'm sure many of you already know, is my family's Physiologus.” Adrianna informed them proudly. “It was written in archaic Latin since the very first Argent began hunting the supernatural, which means that it's over two centuries old.” She held out the chip for all of them to see. “Inside this book, is all the information on the Kanima that you'll ever need.”

“Only we can't read it,” Derek roughly interrupted her, his arms crossed over his chest as a frown pulled down his lips. “And I'm guessing that you can.” He added caustically.

“I'm not the only one that can read archaic Latin, you know.” Adrianna said as she crossed one foot in front of the other and leaned against the table. Her stare slid across the room, landing on Lydia, who was tucked away in a corner looking ten times more miserable than he'd ever seen her before.

“Who can and can't read it is beside the point.” Peter reminded them sternly as Lydia hesitantly looked up to meet their gazes. “What we really want to know, is whether we can trust Adrianna to lead us into this battle.”

Isaac felt sick to his stomach. He'd almost forgotten that the monster he'd seen in the news report wasn't just the product of very good, very expensive movie effects. It was real and he— _he_ —would have to help Scott and the others fight it.

“Haven't I already proved that I'm not going to switch sides?” Adrianna contested sharply. “For all the god's sakes, I even turned my back on my own family so that justice could be served. Don't you think that if I was going to betray you, I'd have done it by now?” She asked them.

But even still, Isaac wasn't convinced. After all, he'd thought he'd known everything about her, until only a few moments ago when she'd turned his world upside down. Perhaps Adrianna had even more secrets, buried just beneath the surface where no one else could see them.

“It's true, you've fought on our side and your worth in battle—particularly against the Kanima—seems to be vital.” Peter agreed, his tone sympathetic. “But how can we trust that you'll have our backs, when most of us don't even know what you are or where you came from?”

He could tell that it was a trick. Peter was trying his very best to subtly tear Adrianna apart, piece by piece. And yet, Isaac couldn't help the truth that rung in each of the older man's words. Peter might have been a psychopathic murderer, but at the moment, he seemed to be the only one willing to voice the doubts that still swirled around Adrianna Argent.

“You know what I am, don't you?” Adrianna's voice cracked, sounding raspy and raw, although her posture never faltered; strong and unreadable as ever. “You've been hinting it since the moment you slithered out of whatever hole you've been hiding in, deep down in Tartarus.” She walked forward so that there was only a small distance between her and Peter.

Isaac could smell her revulsion, her hatred and her anger. Beneath that, he thought he caught the distinct metallic tang of fear, hidden so deeply that Isaac could nearly convince himself that he hadn't noticed it, at all.

“I have my theories,” Peter affirmed, his lips quirking slyly, as though he was enjoying finally poking beneath Adrianna's unusually thick skin. “And none of them bode well for you, darling.”

Adrianna's spine grew rigid. Isaac couldn't see her face, but he imagined that her expression mirrored storm clouds, strikes of lightning flashing through every once in a while as her fists clenched by her sides.

“Go on, then.” She goaded her mother's murderer and Isaac held his breath. “Tell them. Tell them everything that you think you know. See if I care.”

Scott glanced over at him, equal worry in his stare as they both silently agreed to shuffle forward, just in case they needed to separate the huntress and the werewolf who were both spoiling for a fight; for a chance to even the scores.

“Oh, I'd like to.” Peter taunted, his hand snapping outwards in the blink of an eye and roughly grabbing onto Adrianna's jaw. “Believe me, I would. I'd love to see the way that these people—you're friends—look at you when they learn the haunting truth of you.” Deep in his throat, Isaac released a warning growl as he felt his eyes glowing hot.

Peter only laughed, ignoring the way that Adrianna's shoulders rose as she bristled hatefully, her defenses beginning to crumble as her breathing hitched. Leaning in closer to her until their noses nearly touched and Isaac felt as though his blood had turned to gasoline and lit on fire, Peter whispered his next words quietly, like they were only meant for Adrianna to hear.

“But where would be the fun in that?”

And all at once, Isaac's veins froze over as a shiver jostled his spine and numbed his thoughts.

Pushing her away, Peter chuckled to himself as Adrianna turned away from him, her footsteps faltering as she tried to distance herself from him. On instinct alone, Isaac reached out to steady her, his hands wrapping around her frigid biceps.

When she didn't shy away, her snow white face lifting up to stare at him, her green eyes hollow pits to a place he never wanted to glimpse again, Isaac knew that all he'd ever feared was true. Peter knew what she was, perhaps he even knew more than that, and whatever the real story was, Isaac could be certain of one thing.

It wasn't a nice one.

The silence was deafening. Each breath, measured, calculated, and totally erratic, seemed to echo on forever as every eye in the room stared at the two of them, waiting for Adrianna's reaction; for what she would say to defend herself.

But, in a fashion that was so unlike her, Isaac couldn't believe the action had even come out of her brain, Adrianna held tightly to Isaac's hand and faced the others, her visage expressing more unguarded emotion than he'd ever seen her permit.

“You don't have to trust me,” She begun shakily, her voice slowly growing in strength. “And you can't expect me to share all of my secrets with you, when I've only known you for a short while.” Adrianna took a deep breath before continuing. “But tonight, you won't have to.”

Isaac frowned as Adrianna moved away from him, her spare hand stretching out to splay across Scott's shoulder. “I won't be the one leading you in this battle.” She told them with certainty, leaving no room for debate. “Scott McCall will be.”

She held out the bestiary for Scott to take, her lips pursed tightly as the fingers in Isaac's grasp seemed to turn to ice. “I'm not a leader,” She explained, her voice straining in places. “I'm a soldier.”

“I'll follow you, Scott.” Adrianna assured as Scott stared down at the USB in his palm with equal parts wonderment and trepidation. “We all will.” She amended, staring out at the assembled war party.

Three hunters, four werewolves, and a veterinarian, Isaac counted off as he braced himself for the struggle they would be throwing themselves into. _What could possibly go wrong?_

“Okay.” Scott muttered uncertainly, closing his fingers around the chip in a reassuring fist. “First thing's first,” He began with more confidence. “We're going to need a computer.”

In a way, Isaac was glad that Adrianna had elected to stay in the background and allow Scott to take over. As much as he wanted to trust her, his head was telling him that she'd lied one too many times for that to be possible.

He'd once been certain about what he felt for her.

Now, Isaac could only focus on surviving the night.

The rest, he was sure, would come later.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Deaton watched as the teenagers came together to create a plan. He hadn't been expecting Adrianna to relinquish the perfect chance to prove her capabilities as a leader, but then, it wouldn't have been the first time an Argent surprised him.

Standing back, Deaton felt the edges of his lips rising ever so slightly as he looked between Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, and Stiles Stilinski. All of them were working together seamlessly, planning what could possibly be each of their funerals. If it hadn't been so disturbing, stabbing an ice cold dagger of fear directly into his heart, Deaton would have been prouder than ever.

But as it was, he couldn't bask in the kid's accomplishments.

Turning around, Peter Hale—who was standing further away from the group, appearing as though he was paying absolutely no attention while Deaton was certain that he'd caught every word—pushed his way towards Deaton at a pace that wouldn't arouse attention or suspicion from many of the others, but which would allow him to intercept Alan before he had the chance to slip away.

“We need to talk.” The eldest Hale informed him sternly, glancing over his shoulder as his nephew, Derek, along with the youngest huntress among them, both looked up to watch the exchange warily.

Deaton allowed a polite smile to creep upon his lips. “What about?” He wondered, forcing his posture to remain relaxed no matter how much his spine wanted to straighten rigidly and his fists clench tightly. Alan knew what Peter Hale was capable of. He wasn't going to give the man an excuse to murder him, too, although he doubted the Hale would do so after everything they'd been through.

Still, he didn't want to take any chances.

Peter's head tipped back as an ironic exhale bubbled past his lips. “About the mistake these children are making and how we're going to fix it before they seriously screw up.” He lowly stated, looking directly into Alan's own brown eyes with a deadly seriousness that didn't match the joking skew of his lips and the impish dimple that dented his cheek.

“I see.” Deaton hummed thoughtfully, nodding his head. “We can talk in the waiting room.” He gestured towards the exit of the large laboratory and surgery hall with his arm as casually as he could. “It's much more private.” He amended, darting his stare out towards the relatively undisturbed group who were fussing over the stacks of charts and maps depicting Beacon Hills.

“Good,” Peter's brow rose as he looked out at the others, Derek holding his gaze suspiciously. “Lead the way.” He finished, turning back around just as his nephew extricated himself from the group and made his way over to them.

“It's right this way,” Alan informed Peter, beginning to walk towards the doorway as Derek trailed behind them. “Follow me.”

As he exited the spacious back rooms of his veterinary clinic, Deaton's eye caught on Scott McCall, who was disputing a tactic with Chris and making some surprisingly thoughtful suggestions and critiques. Alan sighed, the guilt already gnawing away at his gut even as he had yet to betray his young friend.

“Close the door.” Peter demanded once all three of them were inside the lobby. Although Derek hadn't necessarily been invited, Peter didn't seem overly bothered by his nephew's presence.

If they had been about to discuss anything else, Alan wouldn't have acquiesced so easily. But things weren't that easy and what they were about to talk about, even Deaton could see, would not settle well on the ears of the young werewolves and hunters turned heroes.

Just before Deaton could slide the door shut, a figure darted through the half-closed space. His hand tightened over the door-knob as he recognized Adrianna Argent's sharp, jade-like eyes cutting into him as she broke yet another unspoken rule of nature by pressing her icy fingers over his and shutting the door those final few inches for it to click in place.

“Alright,” Peter intoned rather dramatically, as most Hales seemed to like doing. “Let's get started.”

Peter's back was turned so Deaton was almost certain that he wasn't aware of their newest addition. Derek, however, pale green eyes nearly the colour of murky bogs and swirling with just as much uncertainty, most definitely had noticed Adrianna's presence.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, the muscles bulging and tense as he glared at the huntress heatedly. It wasn't clear to Deaton what the younger Hale was feeling. There was bitterness and anger in his gaze, like there always seemed to be lately, but there was also something hidden beneath all of that. Something Alan could almost identify as interest and perhaps a tiny shred of respect.

It seemed Adrianna had seen it too, as she licked her chapped lips, hesitantly meeting Derek's burning stare with a rather open, much friendlier version of her own. And then, just as Alan wondered if it was even possible for Derek and Kate's daughter to make amends after everything that had passed between them, Derek had to open his mouth.

“What the hell is she doing here?” He rumbled deep in his chest, full of hostility and malice. “She's a f—freaking hunter,” Derek broke off, clearing his throat as Deaton's sharp glare refused to diminish. “Haven't we already established how untrustworthy she is?”

“Uh, _she_ is right here, in case you hadn't noticed.” Adrianna sarcastically pointed at her own chest, braving Derek's attack with a mere pinch of her brow and the narrowing of her once kind stare into something that chilled the air between them. “And I'm getting very tired of defending myself against a pointless argument that I'm never gonna win.”

“Don't worry,” Derek nearly snarled, his lips inching up above his canines with each word. “I noticed.”

“You did?” Adrianna incredulously countered, her hands migrating to her hips as her heeled boots shuffled over the tile floors, almost as though she wanted to rush towards Derek and battle out their differences, but had seen how pointless the action would be and decided against it at the last minute. “Because, from the way I have to keep repeating myself over and over again, I'd have thought that you paid about zero percent attention to anything I've had to say in my own defense.”

“ _Please?_ ” Derek demanded roughly. “You're like a broken record. Everyone already knows what you've done to prove yourself, they just don't care.” He bluntly stated. “You've got blood on your hands, Addy; you're tainted for life now.” Derek mocked relentlessly.

Something changed in Adrianna's eyes as the unfamiliar nickname rolled off of Derek's lips and crackled like lightning between them. Her fists clenched and the temperature seemed to plummet in the room until Deaton was left watching his own cloudy exhale expand in the frigid air before him.

“ _Don't_ — ** _ever_** —call me that again.” She dangerously told Derek, a strange sort of humming filling the room.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Deaton realized that it was about time that someone shook some sense into the two of them, but before he could do so himself, Peter beat him to the task.

“Alright, that's enough flirting from both of you,” He teased them, although, when Deaton thought back on it, he wondered if it wasn't partly true. “Adrianna, you're welcome to join us.” Peter declared with startling sincerity as he met her slightly less angry stare head-on. “And Derek, you should know better than to provoke Kate's daughter, of all people. We don't want history repeating itself, do we?” He asked his nephew pointedly.

Derek stared at the ground, huffing out frustrated air from his nostrils. Adrianna nodded in agreement to Peter's words, although she refused to meet his glittering stare. Alan couldn't say he blamed her. He'd known Peter for a very long time, long enough to know that whenever he helped, it wasn't for no reason and there was always a price.

“Now that that's sorted out,” Peter continued pleasantly, something sinister lurking in his gaze as it flittered over Deaton, never landing in place. “How about we get down to business and talk about what we're all really here for?”

There was a stretch of silence that permitted Deaton to hear his own heart thumping in his ears. Everyone knew the answer to Peter's question, but no one seemed to want to say the words out loud, first.

Adrianna took the plunge a moment later, stepping forward and standing tall as she finally met Peter's troublingly intrigued gaze. “I'm going to kill Jackson Whittemore,” She informed them offhandedly. “And I'm here to ask for your help.”

He'd known it would have to be said eventually, but Deaton had not been prepared to hear it the way that Adrianna uttered it. Her face was clear of emotion, her eyes calculating but otherwise blank. Somewhere deep inside, Deaton knew it had to hurt, but he couldn't tell where.

“Well,” Peter drawled lazily, the heart-aching quiet finally shattering away. “Now that it's out in the open, I'd like to agree with you, Adrianna.” He nodded in the young girl's direction in a way that should have been respectful, but only came off as confrontational. “Our friends in the other room seem to be under the impression that Jackson is still trapped inside the Kanima somehow.” Peter nodded his head towards the closed door for added emphasis as he continued.

“Since we're all here, it's safe to assume that the rest of us know better.” He threaded his fingers in front of his chest thoughtfully. “So, I guess the only question left to ask, is how?”

“How are we gonna do this?” Derek finished for his uncle, his expression twisting with discomfort and grudging acceptance of the task that lay ahead of them. “How do we kill him when Scott wants to save him?”

A part of Deaton wanted to argue. He wanted to point out that, while Scott's goals were overly idealistic and made an already dangerous mission deadly, they were still good goals and plans. Jackson still deserved to be saved.

But he knew, just as well as he knew that werewolves could be killed with wolf'sbane and silver, that they were already far past that point.

So he kept his mouth shut and listened to what the wiser, tougher, perhaps meaner and deadlier allies in Scott's team had to say.

“We can use the hunting tactics that my family implements against a pack of werewolves.” Adrianna suggested, her hand absently tracing over a red, irritated cut on her cheek. “Lure them to a place you know that you have the advantage—like a valley or cliff-face—corner them, and then take them out one by one.”

“It's a good idea,” Alan supplied, rubbing a hand over his chin as he remembered what the Alpha-Kanima had looked like over the news channel and how it had been carefully sketched into the Argent's bestiary. “The only thing we have to worry about is whether a plan designed to play on a wolf pack's weaknesses, will still work against the creature Jackson has become.”

“As far as I can tell,” Peter tuned in. “The Alpha-Kanima doesn't have any pack instincts. It's a solitary predator that evolves from it's beta shape following an emotional or physiological trigger of some kind.”

“That's not entirely true,” Adrianna was quick to point out. “While the Kanima is known to be solitary in it's beta shape, seeking a master instead of a pack, the Alpha form literally becomes it's own master. What happened to Matt, it wasn't the scales trying to balance themselves out, it was the Kanima reacting to the rules it was forced to break by murdering innocents and creating a second Kanima—a beta—for which it's Alpha form could control.” She explained rapidly, her eyes shining excitedly even as Peter and Derek glanced at each other worriedly.

“Theoretically,” She continued just as enthusiastically. “The Alpha-Kanima has all of the ingrained instincts it needs—protective, defensive, and perhaps even procreative—for the same strategies to apply.”

“Yeah,” Derek lifted his finger and shook it as his eyes narrowed. “But our only problem is that Matt never actually turned into a second Kanima. Without the Alpha's beta, assuming that's what it really wanted in the first place, there will be no way to lure it into a trap to begin with. We have nothing it wants.”

“No, that's not right.” Peter suddenly seemed to understand, stepping forward and placing a heavy hand over Derek's shoulder as he grinned at Adrianna savagely, almost as though he was seeing her through a new light. “We do have something that it wants—” He left his sentence to hang, expecting Adrianna to finish it.

Although she grimaced slightly, Adrianna grudgingly did so. “We have Lydia.”

Her eyes connected with Deaton's, earnest and concerned. He saw then, how hard it was going to be for her. Jaw grinding taut, lips pressed into a thin line, and veins standing out across her stiff neck, it was clear to Alan that she wanted to save Jackson just as much as Scott did, perhaps even more so, but years of training and fighting monsters just like the Alpha-Kanima had taught her when even the most sincere, truly good dreams, were already unattainable.

“Scott's not going to like this.” Deaton reminded her, even though he was sure she already knew.

“What Scott doesn't know, won't hurt him.” Adrianna replied, her tone informing Deaton that her mind had already been made up for some time about this. “He wants to save Jackson so badly, he's blinded himself to the sacrifices such an unlikely task will cost him.”

Peter was nodding his head along to her words. “You know,” He amusedly stated. “You're a lot more like your mother than I realized. Cold-heartedly euthanizing a danger to this town and many others is one thing, but lying to Scott about it and pretending to go along with their plan, when you really have your own in the works;” Peter whistled. “That's a new level of cruel.”

Derek frowned at his uncle's words but didn't protest. Deaton waited to see Adrianna's reaction. He wanted to know if she could learn from her mistakes, or if—as Peter had so wisely stated—history was fated to repeat itself.

“It's what needs to be done.” She stared levelly into Peter's eyes, her shoulders curling in as though she was bearing the weight of the world. “I don't enjoy it, in fact, I hate it. But if we're the only ones who can stand up and do this, then what choice do I have?” Shaking her head, Adrianna looked away from Peter, focusing on a single point across from her on the white-washed walls. “If there's one thing I know, it's that a monster like Jackson can't be allowed to continue living so long as the death toll keeps rising.”

“So what?” Peter laughed bitterly. “You think you're being a hero? You think this is some kind of magnanimous gesture?” Derek's hand reached out and clamped across his uncle's forearm, silencing him mid-rant.

“Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Peter.” Derek whispered lowly, his chin tilted towards his uncle so that half of his expression was hidden away. “You're the only one that's going to enjoy this. For the rest of us, it's going to be grueling, but we're the only ones that can do it.”

He looked up at that, right into Deaton's sympathetic stare.

“We're the killers.” He realized.

They were the darkest of the light. They were the ones who'd taken lives and shed the blood of their enemies without a second thought. They were the ones that didn't have to be afraid of dirtying their already stained hands.

Peter Hale had the most experience with it. Deaton knew that it had become a game to the older werewolf. Lives no longer mattered, unless they were his own. But even this would be difficult for him—to know that inside the Kanima, buried beneath the layers of the reptilian creature, was a human boy. It would be the closest that the man had come to a mercy killing.

Derek Hale was angry and bitter. His eyes before becoming an Alpha were blue, making him even guiltier than Peter was, in a way. An innocent life had been taken by his arms and his hands and it still weighed heavily on his conscious. Deaton could only hope that it wouldn't interfere with the duty they and they alone would have to carry out.

Adrianna Argent was quite possibly the worst of them all. Deaton didn't want to guess at how many werewolves she'd killed and would kill over the course of her life as a prolific huntress. There was something about her; death clung to her every pore, following her wherever she went. It was inescapable for her. It seemed that everyone she cared for, surely died.

Her story had been written down in blood and ashes—all of theirs had been—and tonight, they would be intertwined once more; Hale and Argent. It reminded Alan of a different night filled with heartbreak, loss, and so much death. In the midst of it all, though, there had been a spark of hope...of life.

It was Deaton's one wish that the very same hope would be present among them as they ended Jackson Whittemore's dreadfully short life.

“Do we have an agreement?” He questioned the trio heavily. This was the part about his job that he hated most. It was the reason he'd gone into retirement in the first place.

To ask something like this of them, of three people who had already lost far too much, was simply unforgivable. But it had to be done. Not for him. Not for them. Not even for Jackson.

For the people they were encharged to protect. For the humans who couldn't fathom the world they lived in; who thought monsters were frightening stories told to keep them in bed as children and not the warnings they truly were.

Without them, Beacon Hills wouldn't survive the night.

As their eyes met—shades of clouded green and blue—all three crooked champions, it was apparent to Deaton what their answers would be, even before they spoke them out loud.

Steel straightened their bones, iron pulled their muscles taut, silver sealed their wounds, bronze coated their hearts, and hot, slippery gold slid across their minds and shut off whatever doubts they carried underneath the walls they'd each built.

“Let's do this.” Peter said for all of them.

“Okay, then.” Derek, Adrianna, and Peter repeated one after the other. It was a quiet roar, a dull war-cry.

As Deaton led the way back to the others, he couldn't help thinking that—no matter what the benefits were—the cost was once again far too high for the brave souls risking their morals and integrity on a cause they might not have even believed in, a moment ago.

But this was the way of things. Heartbreaking compromises had to be made.

And this... _this sacrifice_...it was only the beginning.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Stiles' eyes remained fixed on the closed door, the image of the four figures walking past the open doorway with light steps and careful glances burned into his retinas even as he forced himself to blink and the clean, white wooden door came back into focus.

Peter and Derek had followed Deaton through the doorway, but, after everything that had transpired, Stiles had never expected to see Adrianna skirt the edge of the room and duck through the door behind them.

“Stiles,” Scott harshly whispered from beside him, his brows furrowing as his finger remained glued on a point which marked the recently destroyed Sheriff's station. “Are you okay? Did you catch anything I just said?” His unevenly-jawed friend wondered.

Shaking his head, Stiles forced himself to set aside the two Hale's and one Argent's strange behavior as he felt guilt bubble in his stomach. “Yeah,” He quickly replied, scratching at his eyebrow as he hoped desperately that Scott didn't notice his obvious lie. “I got it.”

As ever, Scott could be counted on to remain positive and optimistic. He bought Stiles' explanation in a heartbeat. “Okay,” He nodded his head, turning his gaze away from Stiles and back onto the map where stones, what appeared to be sewing pins, and marker-stained lines were scattered across the blueprint of Beacon Hills. “So what do you think?” Scott pressed uncertainly.

Pressing his lips together, Stiles realized that he could no longer get away with lying at the same moment that Chris and Allison did. “About...?” He dragged out, the word feeling slippery and acidic on his tongue.

Scott glanced back at him incredulously, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes in a 'what the hell?' gesture. Chris Argent placed a palm to his forehead, sighing tiredly. Allison, who Stiles was beginning to see had a lot more in common with her cousin than she was undoubtedly comfortable with, took it upon herself to angrily fill him in on what he'd missed.

“We intercept the Kanima here,” She stabbed a finger at the map where the Kanima's last known location was, in the near vicinity of the Sheriff's station. “I help Lydia to distract the target and, assuming she's successful, we make our way around the city's center, into the Animal Preserve.” Her fingernail had dirt caked beneath it along with crimson blood as she dragged her pointer finger in a visual display of what she'd just told him, jabbing one last time at the paper beneath her as she stopped at the green-colored preserve.

“And what happens after that?” Stiles questioned, his stare darting to the edge of the room where Lydia was sitting down quietly, her form shrouded in darkness. “If the Kanima wants to kill Lydia, won't she still be in danger?”

“Yes,” Chris agreed sternly, crossing his arms over his chest as he followed Stiles' line of sight and made eye-contact with a reluctant Lydia. “But if our assumptions are right and Lydia—sharing a strong emotional connection to Jackson's human form—is the only one that has any hope of forcing his humanity to resurface, isn't it worth the risk?” He asked the strawberry blonde.

Lydia stood on shaking legs but refused any help as she made her way towards the group, leaning against the metal operating table and analyzing the map intelligently. “So you're going to use me as bait?” She stated more than asked a few, tense moments later.

Stiles swallowed down the urge to argue and convince Lydia that the plan was too dangerous, roughly. The unspoken words nearly choked him, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut, contrary to popular belief.

“Uh,” Scott scratched his shaggy head, his eyes flittering around the room before landing on Lydia with much difficulty. “You said you wanted to help and this is the safest way.” He avoided the question. “The rest of us will have your back and you'll be with Stiles the whole time.”

A noise of complaint gurgled past Stiles' throat as he shook his head at Scott in denial. He wanted no part in the orchestrated endangering of Lydia Martin. If he could help it, he wasn't even going to watch.

“But I'm still bait.” Lydia perceived smartly, ignoring Stiles' outburst.

Scott cleared his throat nervously as he shuffled his feet. “Basically, yeah.” He admitted sheepishly.

Instead of becoming frightened and backing away, like everyone secretly expected her to, Lydia stood taller and fearlessly met each of their guilty, embarrassed, or encouraging stares. “What do I have to do?” Lydia uttered.

The corner of Allison's lips rose in a near-smile, the most emotion he'd seen from her—other than rage and frustration—since before her mother had died. “Find a way to catch his attention and keep it. If you can't do this, people are going to die.” She unnecessarily added.

Lydia frowned but accepted her friend's words silently even as her skin paled a few shades, if that was even possible. “What happens after we reach the preserve, assuming everything goes to plan?”

“Which it hardly ever does.” Stiles chimed in as his palms began to sweat just thinking about using the girl he'd been in love with for nearly six years of his life, as bait for an immense dragon creature capable of tearing her in half.

Scott pointedly ignored him as he clenched his fist and then flattened it against the paper-covered table. “We fight him where no one but us can get hurt,” He told Lydia, who was blinking hard to try and clear away more tears before they could fall.

Blood began to seep into the map from where Scott had ostensibly cut his palm with his own claws. Lydia watched the puddle grow, her stare transfixed and showing none of the panic that Stiles was feeling.

“We take him to the edge,” Scott voiced carefully, pressing his palm down harder over the map and pushing out even more blood. “To the point where he's an inch away from death.”

“And then?” Lydia shakily demanded, her chin lifting as she met eyes with Scott.

Scott lifted his hand off of the ruined section of map, gingerly holding it out for everyone to see. “And then, before he has a chance to heal, while his mental defenses are down and all he's worried about is surviving the night,” He intoned as the four stab wounds encircling his palm, which he'd inflicted with his own claws, began to close. “We remind him of his humanity and hope that it's enough for him to defeat the Kanima from there.”

The overhead florescent lights buzzed as silence filled the room. Ordinarily, Stiles would have pointed out the many holes in Scott's vague plan. But now, with the hundreds of thousands of lives in Beacon Hills depending on them, he couldn't bring himself to shoot down the only ray of hope they had left.

“What if it's not enough?” Chris was the first to speak and he seemed just as pained by the criticism as Stiles felt, but everyone knew it had to be said.

“It'll be enough.” A firm voice echoed from the now open doorway as Adrianna re-entered the room. Her heels clacked against the cement floors, distracting from Deaton, Peter, and Derek's forms trailing behind her, disappearing into the shadows of the room and expertly weaving back into the group as though they'd never left.

“Besides,” Adrianna grinned like the Cheshire cat but there was something haunting in her gaze that unsettled Stiles as she reached out and took hold of Scott's hand. “I've still got a few cards up my sleeve.” She ominously hinted.

Veins as black as coal raised along her skin, trailing across her fingers and spreading through the points of contact she maintained with Scott's hand to thread through the werewolf's flesh.

Before his eyes, Stiles watched as the four claw-holes in Scott's hand, which he'd seen to be nearly closed, pulled open again until they were even wider than they'd first been.

“So you're not human, either?” Lydia meekly questioned as Adrianna's silent suggestion sank into each of their thoughts.

Green eyes shining brightly in the white light, Adrianna shrugged slightly as she pulled away from a wincing Scott and allowed him to cradle his bleeding palm as the skin healed much slower than it had the first time.

“That's a long story.” She assured Lydia, placing both her hands against the map and leaning over it, effectively halting the conversation right there.

Stiles licked his lips, an inappropriate laugh threatening to break free. “I knew it.” He whispered to himself, keeping the overwhelming fear at bay by forcing his mind into constant motion.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Lydia was afraid.

In fact, she'd never been more afraid in her life.

But the fear, lurking in the back of her mind and forcing her fingers to shake uncontrollably, wasn't the thing that made it hardest to breath. No, it was powerful, but not that strong; at least, not yet.

Jackson's dead body kept flashing through her memory, soft and warm, but limp, so terrifyingly limp, as he'd fallen into her arms. Those words she'd whispered into his ear so desperately; she was ashamed to realize that she'd never said them before to him.

“I do,” Lydia repeated, just to make sure that she'd actually said it out loud and it hadn't all been a hallucination—much like the nightmarish images she'd seen when Peter had convinced her to help revive him. “I do still love you.”

Which meant that everyone knew how she had really felt about Jackson, and how she still felt. Lydia ordinarily wouldn't have had a problem with it, only now that she'd seen Jackson mutate into a giant serpent with wings, there was no way that she could go back on her words. There was no way she could deny being in love with Jackson, who—in a very real, very scary way—was not the human she'd taken him for being.

 _But then_ , a tiny, doubt-filling voice whispered in her mind, _neither am I._

Scott's words to her as he'd explained the plan drifted back into her head, echoing and rippling shivers up her spine. As if what had happened wasn't bad enough, already, to top it all off, Lydia would have to be the one that the myriad group of self-proclaimed heroes used to draw Jackson away from his rampage on Beacon Hills, and into the forest preserve, where they could fight and save him without any additional casualties.

But even though they had a plan, and she'd been assured so many times she'd lost count that her part was— _by far_ —one of the safest among the attack, Lydia couldn't shake the feeling that an enormous load of hurt was about to be dumped on her heart. And the frightening part, was that she wasn't sure if she could take it.

“How are you doing?” A familiar voice abruptly questioned as Adrianna effortlessly snuck up on Lydia, taking the empty seat beside her in the lobby. “You looked a little troubled; I thought you might need some support after everything that's happened tonight.” She added as Lydia's stiffly curled lips no doubt revealed her internal struggle.

“Yeah,” Lydia pressed a hand to her forehead, dragging her index finger between her pinched brows and smoothing away the crinkling skin before she had a chance to develop wrinkles at her age. She couldn't even bring herself to think about the new information she'd recently learned about Adrianna, shoving it to the back of her mind for later processing. “I guess I could.”

Her heart wasn't in the conversation and it was more than a little disturbing that Adrianna could so easily tell. Normally, Lydia was more careful about hiding her inner thoughts and feelings. It was how she'd managed to go on so long with most of her school believing that she was just another dumb, popular girl. “How much have Scott and Stiles filled you in on?” Adrianna suavely changed the subject and the transfer was so natural, it was as though they'd always been talking about that.

“Not much,” Lydia conceded, the air finally releasing from her lungs in a heavy exhale. “Most of it, I'd already figured out or been told by Peter. The rest—” Lydia shook her head incredulously, basking in the strangeness of the moment as an amused smile quirked her lips. “The rest sounds so crazy, I know it has to be real. No one, not even Stiles and Scott, could make something like that up.”

“I'm surprised you're not freaking out yet,” Adrianna commented as she idly adjusted a strap on the leather corset she was wearing; most likely in preparation for the battle to come. “Werewolves, Kanimas, hunters, humans, and much more. All of it in one night. You've sure got a sturdy head on your shoulders.”

“Yes I do.” Lydia tried to confidently reply, but her voice cracked at the end and, as her eyes filled with salty tears once more, she found that being strong was a hell of a lot harder than she'd been making it out to be.

Sniffling, Lydia pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs that wanted to bubble past her lips. “No,” She recanted heavily, shaking her head and dislodging several tears from the rim of her eyelids. “No, I'm not taking this well, at all.”

Heaving in a large breath between the hiccup-like tremors that wracked her small frame, Lydia desperately wiped under her eyes, further smudging the blackened remains of her makeup, as she tried to puzzle herself back together before everyone realized what a mess she was.

“It's okay,” Adrianna assured her hesitantly, her voice raspy and calming. “No amount of knowledge or conviction can prepare you to learn the truth, when you've been fed the lies your whole life.” She shared sympathetically. “We don't expect you to be fearless, we need you to be brave.”

Lydia pressed her sticky lips together, curling them and licking the salt off of the inside of them as her tears trickled past each of her layers, like peeling an onion. “I'm not afraid of the mission,” She informed Adrianna guiltily. “I'm afraid of—of the thing that Jackson—” Lydia inhaled a huge gulp of air in the hopes of soothing her aching throat, but found that it only made it worse.

“You're scared of the Alpha-Kanima.” Adrianna finished before Lydia could compose herself enough to do so, herself. The girl who was younger by only a few months, laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Lydia, that's what we're all afraid of.” She shared, placing a steady hand over Lydia's jumping knee. “It's dangerous and we already know that people have died and are still dying out there. No one wants to talk about what could happen if we're next, but it's in each of our minds.”

“Thank you,” Lydia met Adrianna's sharp gaze. “But it's not the Kanima I'm afraid of; I mean, yeah, I don't want to die, but there's something else that's scaring away my wits. Something worse.”

Adrianna waited, not saying a word. In a way, it made it easier to carry on without those false condolences she'd been expecting. It was like Adrianna knew loss—which, of course, Lydia knew that she did—and wasn't willing to indulge in the customary apologies when she knew they wouldn't make any difference, whatsoever. Jackson would still be gone, turned into a monster Lydia hadn't even known existed until less than an hour ago.

“I just—I can't get the thought out of my head.” Lydia gesticulated with her hands, trying to find an easier way to express herself. Never before had she had that particular problem. “I know he's not himself right now, that the Kanima has taken over, but I can't help but wondering if...” Lydia swallowed, gathering up all her courage before uttering her last words. “What if it really is him, inside that thing? What if there is no Kanima alter-ego? What if Jackson's the one that's really killing all these people?”

“It's not him.” Adrianna immediately responded, her words holding such certainty that, if Lydia had been anyone else, she would have instantly believed her. “I met him before he evolved into the Alpha-Kanima, when he was just the beta. There was a personality split no one could account for, not even you. Do you remember?” She asked her.

Lydia nodded. She brushed her pasty hands over her arms, feeling the ghosts of Jackson's fingers as he'd pushed her into a wall. In her ears, his voice rang, loud and angry, so unlike the boy she'd come to love. And yet, there was a part of her that had known Jackson had a dark side—a side he kept hidden from nearly everyone—and it was still possible that all those instances had simply been that side, surfacing for the first time in many years.

“Jackson wasn't himself half the time I knew him.” Adrianna went on. “He was bitter, angry, violent, and a total self-righteous jerk.” Looking away for a moment to ostensibly collect her thoughts, Adrianna lowered her voice when she spoke next, as though she was attempting to phrase something delicately. “Lydia, on some days he wouldn't even glance my way and it was like I didn't exist to him, but on others...” She sighed heavily before continuing. Alarm bells began to ring in Lydia's head. “On other days he was a lot more interested. One time he even made a pass at me in the showers.”

Lydia wasn't the type to be jealous, especially not of Jackson, who had made it painstakingly clear that he could and would do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, while they'd been dating. But it had been a long day. Jackson had died, her own emotions were high-strung at best and panicked at worst, and Lydia realized too late that she was only one inch away from cleanly snapping in half.

“He did _what?_ ” She disbelievingly stated, her voice thickening the longer Adrianna's words bounced off the inside of her brain.

Adrianna sat back a little so that she matched the new distance Lydia had quickly shuffled between them. “Jackson hit on me.” The huntress rephrased. “But that's beside the point. What I'm trying to tell you is that, even then, it was obvious that there were two sides to Jackson; the human and the Kanima.” Adrianna backpedalled faster than Lydia had ever seen anyone manage to do without tripping over their own tongue. “The odds are that the same thing is happening now. That Jackson is still in there, only he's not in control, the Kanima is.”

Pushing down the jealousy that had creeped up on her and forcing her rational brain to function, Lydia found that Adrianna's theory made perfect sense. It was very possibly that Jackson wasn't the one terrorizing Beacon Hills, that he was a mere slave to the Kanima's will. But somehow, Lydia knew it wasn't the truth. Somehow, she could just feel that Jackson was a bigger part of it than anyone could have ever thought.

“I understand where you're coming from,” Lydia tried to dial back the condescension, but found that it was her only outlet for the hurt that had ricocheted inside her damaged heart after finding out that Jackson hadn't been as faithful to her as she'd foolishly assumed. “But, as much as I want to believe that it's what's really happening, I just can't.”

Lydia placed a hand against her chest, searching deep inside Adrianna's eyes for understanding. “I know Jackson. I love him.” She found herself repeating for the third time that night. “And as unattractive as it might look, it's still very likely that Jackson has always been the only one inside his head. He's not the good guy you think he is.” Lydia warned Adrianna. “He's unstable and unsettling, passionate and vengeful, kind and unimaginably cruel.”

Her mouth ran dry as she thought about her own cruelty. Lydia had treated Jackson terribly before the lacrosse game. He'd wanted to apologize and set things right, when all she'd wanted to do was shove his own short-comings back in his face and make him hurt just as badly as he'd made her hurt when he'd left.

She'd had her chance, then, to finally clear the air with Jackson, but her own greedy ambitions had stolen it away from her. And then he'd died and the guilt had been crippling. She'd understood her mistake, too late, and there had been no way for her to correct it.

Then, somehow, he'd been alive again at the warehouse when Stiles had finally decided to help her, and she'd seized the opportunity in a heartbeat. Lydia could only hope that the moment they'd shared where she'd admitted her real feelings, hadn't been too little, too late.

“If Jackson really is all those things,” Adrianna cautiously stated. “And he's been himself throughout all the murders both of his masters have forced him to commit—then why do you still love him?” She wondered after a second of deliberation.

“Because,” Lydia answered without really thinking too hard on the subject. “No matter how bad things get—how many lives he takes or laws he breaks—I know that, in his own way, he'll always love me with all of my _many_ mistakes.” She grinned just thinking about it. “And if he can do that for me, I think it's only fair that I do the same for him.”

There was a long minute of silence that followed and permitted Lydia to daydream in her head of all the times she'd had to forgive Jackson, and how they evened the odds in their own ill-advised, miss-matched ways.

“Lydia,” Adrianna began, her tone airy and light even as her words landed like heavy stones in Lydia's stomach. “You know that if Scott can't find a way to save him, I'm going to have to—” She cleared her throat before clarifying. “We're going to have to do whatever we can to stop him.”

Save or stop. Lydia knew those weren't the first words on Adrianna's mind, but she shook it off, regardless. Just like Jackson, and even herself, Adrianna had many aspects to her. She could be the ruthless huntress Lydia had only just truly met, or the compassionate friend that had saved her life more times than she could count or fully understand.

“I know,” Lydia assured her friend, easing her tense posture as she slid back into the middle of her seat, breaching some of the air that had acted like a buffer between them. “But I also know that you'll do your best to save him.” She added pointedly.

When Lydia looked into Adrianna's eyes, what were normally guarded, incredibly hard to read emeralds, appeared startlingly clear and troubled. She was warning her, Lydia came to realize. That guilt, the sorrow which clashed against the jagged edges of Adrianna's sharp personality, it was a message, an apology.

“Right?” She uncertainly beckoned an answer. “You'll at least try, won't you? You wouldn't give up so easily?”

Lydia held tightly to the hope that she hadn't dreadfully misjudged her friend's character. When Adrianna pressed her lips together, avoiding Lydia's hazel eyes, a piece of her heart began to wither and die even as Adrianna half-heartedly nodded her head.

“I'm sorry, Lydia.” She morosely told her, brown and blonde, stringy hair falling in front of her pale cheeks and masking the hollow dip that carved it's way into her friend's youthful skin as all the light drained out of their conversation. “I can't make any promises.”

Try as she might, Lydia couldn't hide how her fingers shook even wilder as she pushed away Adrianna's hollow words with as much vigor as she could muster. “I'm scared,” She confessed, wondering if there was a way she could worm the answer she really wanted, out of Adrianna's puckered lips. “And really nervous. Are you nervous? You don't look it.”

Adrianna smiled, the action a simple courtesy with not emotion behind it. “Trust me, Lydia,” She replied, taking out a short knife from a slit Lydia hadn't noticed in the other girl's boot and twirling the blade distractedly. “You don't actually want to know if I'm nervous or not.”

“Sure I do,” Lydia unthinkingly retorted, slightly offended that Adrianna would have assumed so much about her, already. “It matters how you feel. You're probably Jackson's only chance at redemption.” By the time the words had left her mouth, it was too late for Lydia to take them back.

A cold feeling spread across her back, slinking through her veins and dipping back into her heart, carving it into little slices that had no chance of ever being stitched back together. “Oh my god,” Lydia breathed heavily, huffing through her nostrils and shakily sucking air in through her slightly slackened jaw.

“Don't think about it.” Adrianna commanded sternly. Twisting in her chair to face Lydia, Adrianna flipped the short, fold-able blade in her hand so that the handle was pointed towards Lydia and the sharp metal was clutched in her palm. “Here, take it. I'll teach you a thing or two to keep your mind busy.” She offered.

Lydia was so grateful to have a distraction, she didn't even think before her clammy fingers wrapped around the stiff, plastic-like handle of the knife. It was clumsy at first, to learn how to hold it close to her body without cutting herself, but eventually, Lydia got the hang of it.

By the time Adrianna had finished teaching her most of the basics, almost an hour had passed, and the promise of a bright sunrise only a few more hours away was the only thing keeping Lydia on her unsteady feet.

Her instructor sat in one of the chairs abruptly, almost as though she'd become dizzy, and Lydia found herself wondering when the last time any of them had eaten, was.

“Are you okay?” Lydia questioned, concerned. “Should I call Scott?”

“No, not yet.” Adrianna muttered under her breath, clutching her head as though she was in pain. “It's too late. The Kanima's one step ahead of us, now. We've waited too long.” She growled frustratedly, stringing together concepts that made no sense to Lydia. “I was right; we should have fought it the moment it left that warehouse.”

“Adrianna, what is it?” Lydia tried to coax out an understandable answer from the distraught girl. “What's happening?”

Dragging her fingers over her forehead, down her temples and chin, and then allowing her hands to drop down to her lap, Adrianna finally stared up at Lydia, looking her directly in the eyes.

“It's started,” She uttered, her voice hardening until it was nearly unrecognizable. “Gerard's final curse upon this world. The endgame has begun.”

And not a moment later, Stiles plowed through the doorway leading into the back room of the veterinary clinic, his cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated into tiny dots. “You've got to see this.” He exclaimed, each breath rattling in his chest and fanning through Lydia's hair like a miniature hurricane. “The Kanima, it's changed directions. It's not heading for the city anymore, well, not directly anyway,” He hurriedly told her, holding out his cell phone for Lydia to see the video playing in the background. “We were right. The Kanima's weakness is Jackson.”

Lydia frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at the news clip that shook across the screen. If she squinted just enough, the large, white object in the center of the blurry picture came into focus long enough for Lydia to realize what it was.

“That's Jackson's house.” Lydia understood, her voice rising in pitch as he snatched the phone away from Stiles, who hardly acknowledged the action. And then, much like the Sheriff's station had hours before, the home exploded as a comet of scaled wings and sharpened terror plowed through the building, reducing it to shambles. “What the hell?” She whispered, her heart pounding in her ears.

“We need to hurry,” Adrianna stood up suddenly, sliding her leather jacket back over her shoulders and adjusting the already tightened straps of her corset. “Before it's too late. We need to go, now.”

The knife was still in Lydia's hand as Adrianna rushed across the lobby, towards the back room where she knew the others were still gathered together, and Lydia felt the sudden desire to give it back to it's proper owner. “Here, you should have this back.” Lydia called out as she held out the knife to her friend's retreating form.

Looking over her shoulder, Adrianna grimly shook her head. “Keep it.” She told Lydia, stopping momentarily with one hand splayed across the wooden doorway. “I have a feeling you'll need it more than I will.”

Conquering her sudden, nearly debilitating uneasiness to ask one more question, the question that had been nagging at her since the very beginning, Lydia straightened her shoulders as the word left her mouth. “Why?”

Adrianna smiled, although the tilt of her lips appeared garish and predatory more than it was comforting. “Because it's time to enact that very dangerous plan of ours.” She replied before disappearing through the doorway.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Allison tightened her bow string for the fifth time in just as many minutes as she sat in the passenger seat, directly across from her father. She could practically cut the tension between them with one of her knives as she grudgingly forced her hands to rest against the smooth wooden curve of her bow.

“What you did back there to your cousin,” Her father began lowly, his words carrying a seriousness that was impossible to miss. “You know that was wrong, don't you Allison?” He asked her.

She'd been dreading this moment since she'd stepped foot inside the car. Yes, Allison technically knew what her mistakes were. She shouldn't have yelled and accused Adrianna in front of everyone else, but—to be fair—Allison had only been trying to get a reaction out of her so-often stoic cousin. But, like all things pertaining to her mysterious cousin, the reaction Allison had gotten, hadn't been the one she'd been expecting.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Allison retorted hotly as she recalled, in vivid detail, how Adrianna had nearly stripped away all her walls, just to talk some supposed sense into her. The nerve of that girl never ceased to surprise Allison. How could she have ever thought that they were the same?

“No, Allison, I don't think you're stupid.” Chris tiredly replied, his foot releasing the gas as a wailing ambulance sped past them, heading towards the sheriff's station as they made their way further into the city. “Don't make this about you. If you really understand what you did wrong back there, then I shouldn't have to tell you not to do it again.” He continued once the road was clear.

Allison was so tired of being treated like a child. It was as though no one thought she could handle herself without supervision; like she wasn't good enough to hunt with the rest of them when she'd had the same, or more training than most of the myriad squad of protectors.

“I'm not a kid anymore, you know.” She finally erupted as smoke began to fill the air outside, circling in tiny tornadoes above sections of asphalt that were torn to gravel-like chunks. Her father swerved the car to avoid a car-sized crater in the road, the Camaro and Jeep in line behind him, doing the same. “Everyone seems to think that this is too big for me—that I don't know what I'm doing or I'm going to get hurt—but what no one wants to remember is how easily I was able to kick all of your asses back at the warehouse, before Gerard's Kanima stopped me from doing any more damage.”

Her father sighed, not even bothering to chastise her for swearing. If he hadn't been driving, Allison was sure he would have placed a weary hand to his forehead. It made a twinge of guilt sizzle at the pit of her stomach, which she quickly stamped out.

“Like it or not, dad, I'm a part of this world.” Allison sternly continued. “I have to do this. I have to prove to you, all of you, that I can do this. If I get hurt, that's on me.” She finished in a quieter voice. Scenarios of her possible death flashed through Allison's mind, causing her stomach to clench painfully as the nerves finally set in.

“Oh, Allison.” Chris reached out blindly and took hold of Allison's clammy fingers in his right hand. “You never needed to prove anything to anyone, much less me.” He informed her gently, tearing his gaze away from the beaten-up road to look directly into Allison's moistening brown eyes. “Gerard has messed with your head. We all know that. But it doesn't matter if you have to go on this mission, or a hundred more, to feel secure of yourself again. I'll be there, watching your back.” Grinning slightly, Chris slapped the top of her hand lightly as he pulled away. “That's what fathers do, isn't it?”

A knot developed in Allison's throat, making it hard to swallow. She nodded mutely, trying in vain to collect her scattered emotions. As the car plowed past an abandoned pickup truck, which was smashed into a small blue sedan, Allison focused her attention on looking out of the windscreen at the disaster before them.

Everywhere she looked, fire, ashes, and destruction were wrought upon the town she'd called home for nearly a year. The suburban area they were driving through was nearly unrecognizable. If it hadn't been for the smashed remains of Jackson's house, Allison wouldn't have been able to tell where they were.

“We're getting closer.” She realized, chewing at her lip and slipping on her leather, finger-less gloves as she prepared for the worst. “How much longer before we catch up?” Allison questioned her father, remaining as detached as she could while blinking away the tears gathering in her eyes.

“It's hard to tell,” Chris replied just as professionally, their heart-felt conversation all but forgotten as their hunter personas took over. “Judging from the rate of the Kanima's known trajectory, we should have a visual within the next kilometer.”

Allison nodded. She remembered what the news clips had shown. The Kanima was unstoppable now that it had evolved. Strong and fast, capable of flight and who knew what else, but for whatever reason, Scott, Adrianna, Deaton, and almost everyone else had agreed that it seemed as though the Kanima's trail of destruction had a pattern to it.

It was thinking, not just mindlessly tearing apart their city. It had a goal; one which Adrianna seemed to think was to destroy every remaining piece of Jackson Whittemore's time as a human, in order to prevent a re-occurrence of the momentary loss in power that Lydia was able to bring about when she'd given Jackson his key back.

Allison had been too angry to admit that the theory made a great deal of sense, but now that they were getting closer to the Kanima, riding through it's crumbling wake, Allison silently thanked her cousin for keeping a relatively level head through it all.

“Should be just around this corner.” Her father mumbled quietly, his words clipped as though he was short on breath as he turned the steering wheel, lazily directing the car through a wide turn. “You better get in the back.” Chris told her as the smoke turned to patches of dying fires slowly growing in height and intensity as they neared the creature responsible.

Without another word, Allison slung one of her legs across the seat, climbing awkwardly into the back of the pickup they'd chosen out of the many cars her family owned, for this very purpose, and sliding open the small window to crawl into the bed of the pickup.

Her father handed Allison her bow and arrows through the open gap. His stare was earnest and worried as he kept one hand on the wheel, his upper body contorting so that he was facing her. “No matter what you're feeling or how much you want to be reckless,” He reminded her for the last time. “Be careful, Allison.”

Balancing as the truck drove over a set of particularly deep, freshly carved potholes, Allison nodded her chin, the pinched skin between her brows complaining as she wrapped her hand around her bow and ignored the feeling. “I'll try.” She half-promised, not yet ready to pledge away her only chance at redemption.

“Remember,” Chris told her, whirling around to face the road again so that only his voice carried out to where Allison was kneeling, her shoulders hunched over as the open air whipped through her hair and tore at her clothes. “I love you.”

Her shredded heart gave a quick beat at her father's words. The ice in her veins thawed out, allowing her muscles to unclench and move with greater ease. The trembling jitters in her body lessened until they were barely noticeable.

It was just in time, too, because not even a moment later, the truck groaned loudly as it sped over a hill to reveal what Allison's first real-life encounter with the Alpha-Kanima would look like.

Of all the things Allison had expected to see—a large, lizard-like dragon being at the top of that list—Allison hadn't been nearly as prepared as she'd thought she'd be for the sheer intelligence which glittered in the Kanima's eyes as it turned to stare at her. A part of her had wanted to forget, at least for a moment, the magnitude of the threat; the lives at risk.

But now, as she got her first clear, up-close look at the beast they were intending to fight, Allison knew that forgetting was no longer an option.

The Kanima was bigger, if that was even possible. It's length was close to three whole school-buses lined bumper to bumper and it had to be at least a hundred feet tall. Not only that, but it was also shinier, almost as though its scales were healthier somehow. It still resembled it's previous form in that it had two arms, two feet, and a long tail, although the similarities ended there.

If Allison squinted, she swore she could make out barbed spikes protruding from the end of the Kanima's much thicker, much more dangerous tail. It's limbs were over-sized as well, chunky and strong as the beast hunched over on all-fours, its large, leathery wings spreading outwards around it like a shield as its beady yellow eyes glared back at her.

For an inexplicable reason, Allison remembered an acquaintance she'd made some time ago during her time living in Texas, and how she'd explained the process of shedding to her after showing Allison her pet lizard.

If the idea hadn't seemed so far-fetched to her, before, Allison was sure she would have brought it up. Now, she regretted not taking the risk to inform the others as it seemed that her worst fears had come true. Whatever had happened, whether the Kanima had shed its skin or somehow continued to grow, all that mattered now was dealing with the dragon-sized beast as best they could.

Lifting her bow, Allison tightened her trembling grip over the wooden handle and carefully knocked an arrow. She breathed deeply, closing one eye to get a better grasp of where her aim should be. It seemed as though there were miles of scaly hide for her to choose from, but Allison knew she couldn't just shoot it anywhere.

She would have to get its attention. Allison might only get one chance. She'd have to make it count; she'd have to make sure it _hurt_.

Her family's code came back to her, reminding her of her duty. “We hunt those who hunt us.” Allison whispered, solidifying her resolve and drawing back the arrow-string even further as she prepared for what had to be her best shot.

 _One,_ Allison counted in her head, preparing herself for the most dangerous round of target practice she'd ever undergone. _Two._ She straightened her shoulders, standing as tall as she could as she narrowed her eyes on a spot just beneath the Kanima's chin where the scales seemed less fortified. _Three._ Her fingers loosened over the arrow, less than a millimeter away from releasing it as she inhaled sharply.

And then, just before Allison could commit to her task, a horde of people came rushing out of an apartment complex and began to swarm the truck. Her concentration broken, Allison hurriedly glanced back into the cabin, locking eyes with her father.

“Do it,” He silently urged her, his words lost in the tumult around them, even though Allison could still read his lips. “You have to—” But before Allison could finish interpreting his words, a thunder crack so loud, Allison feared the world had split in two, resounded through the air.

Hair whirling about her, Allison's frantic gaze darted through the crowd, eventually landing on the nearby apartment building. As she witnessed the Kanima, which had appeared to be peaceful—even distracted—a moment before, crash into the towering structure. It punched a hole through the building's first and second levels, compromising the foundation and causing the front half of the building to collapse in on itself. As their car was engulfed in smoke, fire and rubble burning and crumbling loudly only a few meters away, Allison swore she could feel her heart stop beating.

The screams drifted to the back of Allison's consciousness. Burning intensity began behind her eyes as the Kanima's unyielding stare refused to be blinked away from her sight. It had been challenging her, Allison realized too late, and now dozens of innocent people had died.

Scrunching her nose, Allison sniffled, blinking to clear her vision. Hate, familiar and sickeningly twisting in her gut, reared its ugly head. This time, she used it to do good, raising her arms high up into the air as she re-adjusted her aim and stance.

“No one else dies,” Allison promised to herself, a calm determination settling over her as she stiffened her muscles to account for the jostling of the truck as bystanders continued to crowd around, rushing to the safest place they could find or simply standing still, in shock. “Not today. Not if I can help it.”

She gritted her teeth, pulling back so far on the bow-string that Allison feared it would snap and whip into her face. Still, she forced it a few inches further, holding her breath as she lined up her sight-line on the supposed chink in the Kanima's armor.

If her hunch was wrong, and her target wasn't the weakest point on the Kanima, Allison considered whether her arrow would even have any effect. Maybe it would just bounce off. But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't.

That chance was enough for Allison's stance to hold steady for one more second, her lips twitching as she tried to express her conflicting emotions through a sneer-like frown, before she released the arrow and hoped for the best.

As it sailed through the air, Allison willed it to fly higher and faster. It had to work. Otherwise, they had no other way—short of using their clumsily-crafted plan and becoming human bait—to garner the Kanima's attention.

“Come on, come on.” Allison muttered at first, her footing abandoning her as the truck was pushed from side to side by terrified hands and bodies, her knees colliding painfully with the metal floor beneath her as she barely prevented herself from falling over. “Come on!” She yelled, desperation in her voice, as the arrow lodged itself into the tiny gap of scales beneath the Kanima's chin.

Adrenaline pumped through her body, mixing with the joy of accomplishment and creating a rush that promised to keep Allison awake for several more hours to come. “Yes.” She cheered lowly, some of the bystanders catching onto her enthusiasm and craning their necks every which way to catch a glance at what Allison was looking at.

The tiny arrow seemed half its normal size as it stuck between the Kanima's scales, and while it didn't appear to have hurt the daunting beast, it had certainly alerted it to Allison's presence. Snorting lowly, Allison almost expected flames to jettison out of the Kanima's nostrils as it turned away from the building and towards her.

Her response was instantaneous. Panic and fear. Pounding her fist against the roof of the truck, Allison kept her eyes glued on the Kanima as her heart leapt into her throat. “Let's go, we've got to go!” She shouted over the screams and deafening shrieks as the Kanima's fifty meter wing-span began to flap, lifting it into the air with great effort.

“I'm trying!” She heard her father yell in response, the horn blaring as he tried to clear the road of civilians. Allison didn't have time to wonder why nobody was running away from the approaching Kanima. All she could focus on was the drastically diminishing distance between it and her.

“Drive dad,” Allison desperately repeated. “Drive!”

Gale-force winds buffeted through Allison's hair, toppling what was left of the rubble heaps that had once been buildings and threatening to lift the truck off of the road. Finally, the stunned crowd dispersed in a frantic stampede of terror as they battled against the force of the Kanima's wings. Each large, delayed flap tossed trashcans and other unsecured debris across the scene. Allison had a brief moment of recollection about a book called the Wizard of Oz which she'd been forced to read for her grade nine English report, and how they might be carried up into the air in the tornado-like air current, just as Dorothy had been.

Revving the tires so that fumes of burnt rubber mixed with the acrid ozone-tainted atmosphere, it seemed her father had a similar fear as the spinning wheels finally grasped hold of the asphalt and the car took off down the road.

It was not a moment too soon as the Kanima followed after them at break-neck speeds. Still kneeling in the back of the truck, Allison leaned closer to the cabin as she tried to shield herself from the slipstream of air the car had entered.

Allison looked out behind her, watching the Jeep and Camaro navigate around the damaged highway as the formation of cars barely managed to stay ahead of the Kanima. Out of the opened back of Stile's Jeep, Scott and Isaac rolled across the pavement and took a short second to right themselves before running slightly behind the squadron of vehicles with their supernatural speed.

From the Camaro, Derek and Peter launched themselves similarly, landing on their feet and taking less time to catch up with Scott and Isaac. Lydia's fiery red head rose up out of the Jeep and Allison found herself wondering how her best friend had been so brave, all along, without anyone having realized it. She stared down the Kanima fearlessly as Stile's clumsily kept the car on the road. Inside Derek's Camaro, Allison could barely make out her cousin's intensely focused features.

Gathering her wits once more, Allison brought her bow back into position and pulled a total of five arrows from out of the quiver lying at her feet, the strap wrapped around her ankle to prevent it form being blown away.

Tying a length of rope to the ends of each arrow, Allison aimed lower onto the Kanima, near it's feet—which hung closer to the street as the rest of it was lifted off the ground—and shot them off one by one.

“This plan better work.” Allison whispered beneath her breath as the arrows sailed through the air and embedded into the hide of the Kanima exactly where she'd intended for them to.

She couldn't bring herself to think of what would happen if it didn't.

**#-#-#-#-#**

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.” Stiles chanted under his breath as he roughly jerked the wheel and caused his beloved Jeep to cant to the side as he swerved to avoid a crater in the road. “Why in the hell did I ever agree to this?” He asked himself as he foolishly took a glance in his rear-view mirror.

Without even noticing, Stiles' foot pressed down harder on the accelerator as he took in the sight of the hundred-foot tall, winged Kanima careening through the air after them. It's maw was gaping wide open, revealing at least a dozen rows of razor sharp teeth as it screeched loudly, nearly splitting his eardrums.

“Calm down,” Lydia muttered uncertainly from beside him, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. Stiles' shoulders rose unconsciously to try and block out the ringing in his ears and Lydia faltered when he took a second to glare heatedly at her. Gulping, she continued with only slightly less confidence. “Focus on the driving and let Scott and the others do their jobs. We have a plan, remember? This is going to work.” But to Stiles, it sounded like she was reassuring herself, more than she was him.

“Yeah, we've got a plan.” He bitterly agreed, flexing his fingers uncomfortably where they grasped the wheel with whitened knuckles. “But taking into account that we're literally using you as human bait and my life is in danger for the third time tonight, I've decided that it's even more stupid than I was.”

A large bump in the road jostled them in their seats and Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from using an especially colorful swear word. “Has Allison fired those arrows yet?” He questioned as his hand reflexively drifted to the gear-box where he swiftly changed gears and pushed his Jeep to the limit as he gained speed on the other, newer cars, beginning to catch up.

Stiles saw Lydia pressing her lips together out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't have time to worry about hurting her feelings. As she leaned over the side of her seat, looking over her shoulder and out the side of the car towards where Allison was precariously balancing in the back of Chris Argent's truck, Lydia seemed to nod before answering.

“Yes,” She tightly responded, her fingertips—which were clutched on the edge of his seat to keep her balanced—brushed the fabric of Stiles' sleeve. “Yeah, Allison's shot the arrows. We're ready.” Lydia finished, pulling away to stare at him imploringly.

“That's good.” Stiles told her, his brows furrowing as he focused on navigating the ruined remains of the once pristinely paved street. “Let me know when Scott, Isaac, Derek, and Peter dive into the action.” He informed her, his lips puckering in concern when Lydia didn't reply.

Her green eyes were wide and frightened when Stiles found a chance to look away from the road. He didn't have to wonder before he knew why. If Stiles himself hadn't been such a socially-ostracized nerd who depended on Scott as his only source of friendship, he probably would have freaked out a lot more when he'd found out about the supernatural world. Stiles could only begin to imagine how Lydia was feeling with the added stress of the monster flying closely behind them.

“Hey,” He gently reassured her, awkwardly taking one hand off the wheel to lay over top of Lydia's cold, trembling one. “It's okay.” Stiles hesitantly began, only to flush and stutter as he realized his mistake. “Well, it's not actually okay. Being chased by a very large dragon probably doesn't count as 'okay' and neither does witnessing your boyfriend turn into said giant dragon,” He rambled apologetically, licking his lips as he tried to make sense of his conflicting emotions. “But what I mean to say is that, um, with me—in this car—you'll be safe.”

And it must have been the right thing, because Lydia cracked a small smile and curled her fingers around his, squeezing gratefully before letting go. “Thank you, Stiles.” She breathed a shuddering huff of air out of her nostrils in amusement as the words sounded foreign coming from her. Stiles didn't think he'd ever heard her thank someone before, much less him. “Okay, they've left the cars.” Lydia cleared her throat, frowning as she quickly extracted her hand from under Stiles', seemingly just realizing what she was doing.

Stiles nodded stiffly, swallowing the acrid taste in his mouth as he remembered his place in Lydia's life, and returned his spare hand to the wheel. “Great,” He spat more harshly than he'd intended, too busy glancing in his mirrors and judging the distance between the werewolves and the fast-moving Kanima, to bother correcting his tone. “Get out there and hold on.” He commanded as Chris and Adrianna slowed down just enough so that both their cars flanked him.

Lydia silently did as he asked, unbuckling her seat-belt and moving to the back where she was able to stand up, half her body rising above the metal roll cage of the jeep so that her red hair swept around her face like a real flame.

“Okay, good.” Stiles breathed to himself as he briefly watched Scott and Derek beginning to climb onto the Kanima's legs, which hung closest to the ground, using the rope attached to the arrows Allison had shot only a moment before, to aid them. “Now all we've got to do is keep it busy.” He understood.

As the Kanima wailed, shaking its legs to try and dislodge the stowaways, Stiles tried his best to keep up with the other drivers. Despite the fact that Adrianna was his own age, she drove just as well, if not better than the eldest among them; her own uncle, Chris. Stiles figured it must have had something to do with her sharpened reflexes and hunter training. His Jeep, of course, couldn't be held accountable for his own slightly delayed reactions.

Slowly but surely, the Jeep began to fall behind once more. The motor made a whining sound of complaint as black, acrid smelling smoke poured out of the front hood. “No, no, no, no, no.” He cried desperately, fiddling with every control he could get his hands on as he tried to control the car's rapidly overheating engine. “Don't do this to me now, baby. Just a few more miles. Come on, you can make it.” He encouraged the car, cringing when wiper fluid sprayed all over his front windshield and the smell of burnt rubber invaded his senses as the car barreled over a section of charred asphalt.

“Stiles, watch out!” Lydia yelled from behind him, drawing his attention away from the inside of the cabin back to the rear-view mirror where he saw that the Kanima had gotten heart-stoppingly close, its jaws less than a meter away from snapping down on the rear bumper.

“Dammit,” He swore, pushing down his foot all the way on the gas pedal even as the smoke turned into a full-fledged fire in the engine. “Lydia, we've got a serious problem.” He shouted over the traumatizing crunch of metal as he changed gears once again.

Stiles didn't hear her response, but the searing glare he received in the mirror was all that he needed to know. Her greenish brown eyes had never seemed so much like fire until that moment, where Stiles was able to feel the first-hand effects of one of Lydia's deadly stare-downs.

“Okay, yeah,” He squeaked nervously, more to himself than anyone else, as the noise was sure to have been drowned out in the catastrophe his prized jeep had become. “You probably already knew that.”

Despite his best efforts, the jeep took a turn for the worse. Their speed decreased and Stiles fruitlessly stomped down on the accelerator for a moment before realizing that it was useless. He jerked the steering wheel every which way, but moving the vehicle was nearly impossible now that the power steering had been disabled.

“Oh crap,” Stiles brushed a frustrated hand over his face as the two cars on either side of him shot forward, leaving him and Lydia in the dust. “What am I going to do now?”

Lydia, who had quickly caught on to the direness of their situation, turned around and set her hands on the shoulders of the front seats. “Come on, Stiles.” She urged him, her porcelain features smeared black in places from the noxious smoke as she reached out for his hand. “We've got to leave the car. Allison and Chris are coming back for us right now.”

Sure enough, as Stiles looked out the front windscreen, past the smoke which stung in his eyes and the fire which burned the insides of his nostrils with each choking breath, the black pick-up truck had swerved around and was now heading straight for them.

The jeep was crawling by this point and the distance that Stiles had managed to gain between them would be barely enough time for them to escape. But if they hurried, they just might make it.

“Okay, let's go.” He reluctantly agreed, unbuckling his seat-belt and accepting Lydia's assistance as he made his way to the back of the jeep.

He kneeled down, using his hands to steady himself against the jeep's rear hatch, memorizing the cold feeling of the car's metal against his skin before he and Lydia glanced at each other and, reaching out to hold each other hand's, leapt down to the still-moving pavement beneath them.

It wasn't nearly as jarring as it could have been, had the jeep been moving at a faster speed, but that didn't mean that Stiles got out unscathed. His knees collided with the asphalt, his momentum tearing through the fabric of his jeans and burning into his flesh. The hot, moist, stinging in his kneecaps informed him of his wounds before he even had a chance to examine them.

Lifting himself to his feet, Stiles was painfully aware of the approaching Kanima as its yellow, slitted eyes regarded them greedily and it's large—almost bat-like in physiology—wings, quickened their beating to allow the beast to gain on them.

“Come on!” Stiles yelled, his voice straining with terror.

He roughly pulled Lydia to her feet from where she was sitting down on the ground beneath him, as sheer, undiluted, human survival instincts took over. He broke into a flat sprint so fast, even Coach Finstock would have been proud of him as Lydia struggled to keep up in her bare feet. Although he was afraid she'd wound herself on the many shards of glass and patches of burning asphalt, Stiles understood that it was a better alternative than running in high heels.

They were halfway across the road, less than four meters away from the stopped truck and Allison's frantic waving, when the Kanima reached them.

Stiles didn't know what came over him as he pulled the hand connected to Lydia's sharply into himself, using the leverage to wrap his arms around her lithe frame as he tried to protect her from their fate. His chin nestled in her hair and he only had a moment to shut his eyes tightly and inhale her sweet, strawberry scent, before the humid, rotting stench of the Kanima, along with it's deafening roar and the damaging force of its wings—which threatened to steal Lydia away from him and toss him to the floor like an unwanted toy—over-powered everything else.

 _God, please,_ Stiles found himself praying as time seemed to stand still. _Not Lydia. Take me or anyone else, but not her._

He'd never had much luck with praying before. Stiles had done it for his mother, but in the end, she'd still died. At one point, he'd even considered doing it for Scott—who still needed a lot more guidance than Stiles could provide. But now, when it mattered the most for him, it seemed that his luck had finally changed.

The earth-quake beat of the Kanima's wings began to fade away as it gave one final, warning shriek which really did send Stiles to the floor, before setting it's violent gaze over the horizon and beginning it's ascent into the heavens.

Like tiny specks, Stiles could see Derek, Peter, Isaac, and Scott clinging onto the Kanima's hide for their lives as their plan fell apart before his eyes. In his arms, Lydia began to tremble and he felt her tears drip onto his collar. It gave him enough strength to pick himself up for the second time and lead them both across the remaining distance to the waiting pickup.

“Are you either of you hurt?” Allison demanded of them as she helped Lydia up into the bed of the truck and did the same for Stiles. There was something about her stare that unnerved Stiles. It wasn't until a moment later that he realized why.

“Yeah, we're fine.” He informed her, moving over so that he was directly beside the cabin of the truck and sitting down beside Lydia's shaken form. He frowned as he noticed crimson stains caked to the bottom of Lydia's feet but chose not to bring the subject to light as he took hold of the strawberry blonde's clammy hand.

“Good,” Allison responded coldly, slapping her hand down on the roof of the truck and signaling for her father to begin driving again. “Because, if you hadn't noticed, we've lost a lot of time and the Kanima's finally decided to play by its own rules.”

Stiles reeled for a minute, absorbing the hostility in his friend's stare as the truck pulled away from the curb slowly. “Well, I'm sorry if saving our lives inconvenienced you, Allison.” He sarcastically quipped. “Next time, I'll make sure our impending deaths don't bother you so much.”

Ordinarily, Stiles knew that his smart-mouth could predictably get a reaction out of Allison, but now—dealing with this strange, hot and cold version of the girl his best friend was in love with—it was obvious that none of the same standards applied.

“Whatever.” Allison merely brushed off his comment, kneeling down at the far end of the truck's bed with one of her hands clutching onto her bow as the other served to steady her balance. She sorted through her quiver to avoid answering Stiles' unrelentingly confused stare.

“What's happening now?” Lydia asked him quietly, the braids her hair had been held back in, unwinding and allowing reddish tendrils to fall in front of her soot-stained face. “Where are we going?”

“We have to follow the Kanima,” Chris Argent spoke up from inside of the truck, his face just visible through the open window Stiles had seen Allison crawling out of only a few minutes ago, in order to start off their insane plan. “No matter where it goes, if we don't find a way to distract it, people will die.” He informed them, the skin between his brows pinching worriedly as he glanced back at Allison before redirecting his eyes outwards, onto the road.

“How do we do that?” Lydia wondered. The fingers clutching Stiles' hand tightened exponentially, nearly strangling the appendages, as Lydia's uncertainty and fear became known to him.

This was all new to her. She wasn't prepared to handle any of it, but there was nothing Stiles could do, because—no matter how long a person had to adjust—nothing could truly prepare you to face the monsters of the supernatural world. He should have known. He'd had a whole year to prepare, and even still, he was way out of his comfort zone.

“Don't worry,” Chris assured them, taking a moment to stare off to the side, where Derek's black Camaro drove in parallel with them, Adrianna maneuvering behind the wheel. “I have a pretty good idea where it's going to be.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Where there had once been chaos, there was now order.

Where he had once had two voices and two conflicting minds, there was now harmony.

Where he had once desired to show mercy, there was now only rage and the bitter desire for bloodshed.

The wind felt frigid against his scaly hide and served to calm him some as he distanced himself from the redheaded woman his heart ached for. Something deep inside of him had snapped when he'd been a moment away from ending both human's lives—the skinny boy and the mysterious girl—and he hadn't been able to fight it. Instead, he'd flown away.

A pinching in his back reminded him of the pesky werewolves which were still attached to his scales, clinging with their nails in order to prevent themselves from falling to the ground at what might have been fatal heights.

He grunted, deep in his throat, and took a quick glance over his left shoulder. Sure enough, the four werewolves riding his back were still there and as bothersome as ever. The one closest to him, whose eyes glowed bright red in response to Jackson's stare, slashed his sharpened claws through the uppermost layer of the Kanima's skin.

It didn't hurt—Jackson would have done much worse to the daring wolf, if it had really hurt—but even so, he felt a spark ignite within him and reacted to the werewolf's threat by suddenly pitching to the side. He felt a jolt of satisfaction when each stowaway slid down his skin a ways before regaining a handhold.

Soon enough, he would kill them all. Soon enough, he wouldn't have to worry about wolf packs or hunting parties. He'd have his own pack; his own army to lead and wreak destruction thereby. Jackson couldn't wait.

His wings shivered in the air the closer he got to his destination. Beneath him, the minuscule houses and streets sped past in a blur. Out ahead of him, he could just make out the distinct shape of the large, brick building his human self had hated for so long.

Beacon Hill's High School would be next to feel the aftershock of his rage and might. When he was done with it, there would be nothing more than rubble and charred bodies in his wake. He would make them pay for the years of unrestful sorrow and boredom that he'd had to endure.

The damage that the four werewolves were able to do upon him as he neared the high school began to increase as they organized themselves. He grunted, but didn't feel the needed to retaliate. Not yet. But when what could possibly have been his one and only physical weakness, was exploited, he could no longer hide his ire and anguish.

He roared out in pain as a sizable patch of shiny scales on his right flank were pulled upwards and ripped away from his flesh. His altitude plummeted as the others caught on to the method, beginning to tear out as many scales as they could—on his legs and arms, soft underbelly, spiky head, long and clubbed tail, along with the skeletal support of his wings.

The wind tore at him just as much as the wolves did, however Jackson didn't make a move to slow his descent. Already, he could feel at least one of the annoying runts clinging to his back, beginning to lose its grip. If he could just hold out a few meters longer, perhaps he could shake them all off.

But even as he considered it, Jackson knew it couldn't be done. The ground was rapidly growing beneath him, swallowing up his entire line of sight and looming dangerously as the threat of splattering against the pavement became realer with each prolonged, agonizing second.

Finally, when he could distinctly make out the heat signatures of hidden pedestrians and isolate each and every grain of asphalt beneath him, Jackson pulled out of his steep dive, despite not having lost any of the werewolves along the way.

He felt a surge of triumph as the momentum he'd accumulated during the drop, forced one of the four off of his back. Although it wasn't the most aggressive of them, or the smartest, Jackson allowed himself to revel in the victory.

One had been removed, now only three remained.

Keeping himself low to the ground, so much so that Jackson's clawed feet brushed against the pavement every so often, he poured on the speed, slipping into a wind tunnel that buffeted savagely at every orifice. Jackson felt a chitinous membrane coat his eyes as he blinked, blurring his vision but otherwise preventing the damage done by the forceful winds.

A spike of red hot pain stabbed his shoulder once more as he was distracted by two fast-moving objects approaching from the far right. As he realized that the remainder of the hunting party was catching up to him, Jackson snorted in discomfort. This time, the three remaining werewolves had managed to clamber onto the same side, each taking turns shredding Jackson's flesh in the same spot. Their efforts alone had been painful, but combined, Jackson could already tell that, without a quick elimination, they would be capable of killing him.

Breathing out through his nostrils hotly, Jackson's beady eyes narrowed as his huge wings bent the wind to his favor and his calculating mind came up with a scheme to eliminate the pests on his back once and for all.

All around him were residential one or two storey buildings. Jackson knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that there were people living inside those homes. But as the werewolves' claws continued to rip at his scaly hide, nearing the vulnerable muscle fibers concealed beneath, Jackson couldn't stop the instinct to survive from taking over.

With a minute adjustment at the tip of his wing, Jackson leaned to the side and veered directly through the first building. The impact was dull and caused a barely noticeable throbbing to echo through his bones as the scales that he still had shielded most of the impact. The same could not be said about his stowaways.

His lips parted in sinister pleasure as he felt one of the pesky heroes slide down his back and stab claws through his hindquarters in order to remain on board Jackson's body. His chest vibrated in what might have been a laugh as his ears picked up their whines and snarls of surprise and pain.

Bricks fell before him, concrete splintered like chalk, wood and various other substances scattered like sand in the wind as he continued through the next house, and then the next, and the next.

Just as he was certain that the werewolves were one tiny push away from falling to their deaths or ultimate failure—Jackson honestly didn't care which as long as they left him alone—the long row of houses ended and Jackson was forced to pull up into the air as he careened off into what would have been a deserted side street, had the rest of the werewolves' forces not been waiting for him.

Arrows peppered his neck, hurting more than he was willing to admit, and the indignation roiling in his gut felt like a basin of hissing acid. He had the overwhelming desire to snarl and spit at the increasing threat that the pesky war party was, but before he could give in to it, a spray of persistent gunfire slammed into his chest.

Roaring angrily, Jackson hovered in the air, turning so that he could face the bigger threat and inadvertently knocking off another wolf from his back. No longer caring about them as much as he had before, Jackson focused his vision on the assembled cars before him. Heat signatures were blurry and indistinct, but even so, he could vaguely identify where the hail of bullets slowly eating through his armor and nearing his flesh, was coming from.

He opened his jaw and, satisfaction filling his blackened heart, prepared to swallow the god spawn whole. As the meters closed, shrinking to feet which would soon be inches, Jackson reveled in the way that the huntress continued to assault him with her rifle. His eyes shone a bright, frightening yellow as his prey's bullet supply ran dry and she hatefully glared at him with no other weapons at her disposal.

She was his to kill. His to savor.

Yet, there was a part of him that wondered if that was what he really wanted, but before he could truly consider the prospect of allowing her to live, the space closed between them.

Just as he could almost taste her; could feel bone breaking and hear her blood curdling screams; a different voice entered his mind, stronger than his master's had been and much louder, making his decision for him.

“Stop!” It cried desperately. “Jackson, stop!”

And, remarkably, he listened.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Derek's fingers hurt worst of all.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Watching Isaac fall off of the Kanima's scaly back, hands grasping for purchase but unable to find any, golden eyes quickly fading to scared blue as they locked onto Derek's stare moments before he was hurtled towards the asphalt beneath them at break-neck speeds; that was certainly not bothering him, at all.

His arms ached worse, that was certain, from holding on despite the Kanima's best attempts to knock them off. And then there were his lungs, which felt like they were inhaling lead instead of oxygen, thanks to the rapid changes in pressure and altitude during their crazy flight. But Derek couldn't forget about his fingers, either, and the strong claws he'd never thought would ever get this close to breaking.

But in the end, no matter how hard he tried, there was still an ache in his chest that he couldn't excuse. An ache that had only started _after_ he'd watched his only remaining beta—whose loyalties were debatable at this point—plummet to what very well could have been his death.

And so, when Scott had fallen next and the bullets and arrows started raining down on them, some barely missing his head, Derek could no longer pretend like he wasn't affected.

“Dammit,” He cursed as the Kanima neared Adrianna. She held a shotgun blasting what seemed like silver pellets in a rapid, unpredictable pattern, and in doing so, resembled her mother even more than she normally did. “This thing's really starting to piss me off.” Derek rumbled, glancing to his side and connecting his stare with his uncle's.

Peter grinned, catching Derek's full meaning without having to hear an explanation. “On three?” The older man asked, his voice turning that haunting shade it always did whenever there was violence or bloodshed to be had.

Nodding, Derek cracked his stinging knuckles and posed over the raw, red patch of nearly exposed flesh beneath the tough layers of scales that each of them had painstakingly been peeling off over the course of their flight. In the background, Derek noticed that the shattering noise of the shotgun's ammo had been silenced and he didn't need to look to know that Adrianna was out of options.

“Stop!” A distinctly feminine voice shrieked as Derek's muscles coiled taught and his mind regressed to the predatory, animalistic _kill-or-be-killed_ mindset, ready to spring at a moment's notice. “Jackson, stop!” Lydia Martin yelled desperately.

Derek resisted the inappropriate urge to roll his eyes, settling for a frustrated growl as he was forced to restart his countdown. He was not under the same naive illusions that Lydia was, in believing that she could somehow stop the Kanima, or bring back Jackson's humanity, after everything that had happened.

“Don't.” Peter warned, shaking his head firmly as he watched Derek, supposedly reading the rogue intentions flying about inside his mind. “She can help. Just wait and see.” He reminded him.

“You said the same thing last time, and look where that got us.” Derek argued, but grudgingly hung back as a part of him considered the facts, shoving away his impulsive side.

Just as he was certain that the Kanima would swallow Adrianna entirely, his heartbeat inexplicably doubling and his palms sweating nervously at the thought, he felt the giant beast's flank begin to tense and move beneath him as it turned towards Lydia.

“No way,” He breathed, surprise clouding his mind for long enough to watch as the Kanima snarled towards Lydia, it's sights no longer focused on the high school. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” His uncle tutted, grinning impishly in that superior way of his. “You never learn, do you?”

A muscle in Derek's jaw twitched as he dug the claws on his left hand deeper, which was serving to keep him balanced where he perched on the Kanima's shoulder, as they began to move once more.

“Shut up,” He grumbled acerbically, turning his face away from Peter and slicing as deeply as he dared into the semi-exposed meat beneath him, Peter following not a second later.

The Kanima reacted instantly, screaming horrifically loud as both Hales began a more furious assault on Beacon Hill's winged doom. Deep down, Derek knew that if they didn't stop the Kanima now, they would never get the chance. Losses would soon lead to deaths, and that was something he didn't want to see happen.

As greenish blood began to seep onto Derek's hands, tingling ever so slightly and slickening them to the point where he was tempted to take a small break if only to wipe away the muck on his pants, the Kanima's attention gradually broke away from Lydia and back onto him and Peter.

“This is not good,” Peter cried as the Kanima snapped it's foot-long fangs only a few feet away from his uncle's head. “They've got to keep it occupied. We can't kill it if it's trying to kill us!”

“You don't think I know that!” Derek shouted back, irritation flaring in his veins and burning like fire as he pressed himself close to the Kanima's hide in order to avoid the brunt of the impact from the Kanima's wings, which were relentlessly trying to bat him away.

“Then do something!” Peter retorted just as hotly, never one to be outmatched in a yelling match, even if his life was in serious danger.

Derek dug his hand further into the soaked muscle fibers, twisting this way and that as the Kanima shrieked and snarled in response. “I'm trying.” He spat through his teeth, barley louder than his thundering heart.

“Try _harder._ ” His uncle insisted, scuttling up just in time to avoid the clubbed end of the Kanima's much larger, much deadlier tail, and laughing maniacally as the cartilaginous, spiked mass collided with the Kanima's own side, directly where Peter had been only a second before.

Raising his brows, Derek clenched his jaw and pushed down the murderous thoughts swirling through his mind. He could punish Peter for his insensitivity later, if they were all still alive by then. In that moment, Derek hated to know that his uncle was right. He _did_ need to try harder, for all their sake's.

“Alright,” He muttered to himself, his eyes flittering to the street racing past beneath them and the consistent volley of arrows and bullets that gauged tiny holes in the Kanima's belly from their backup on the ground. “Think, Derek, think.” He urged, quickly discarding the others as a source of viable help and searching on the Kanima for a weapon or clue as to how to defeat the seemingly invincible creature spawned by his own impure treachery against Jackson's greedy exploitations.

His eyes were pulled upwards, only a small space away from his hand, as a barb-tipped arrow pierced between the damaged scales of the Kanima and stayed there. As he stared at the sharpened projectile, small trickles of the Kanima's blood dripping along the shaft, an idea came to life inside his head.

Licking his lips, Derek reached up and yanked the arrowhead free from the chink in the Kanima's armor. The beast didn't stir, apparently unaware or numb to the action. Derek took it as a good sign, tightening his hold over the small, seemingly ineffective arrow.

“I've got an idea!” He shouted as loudly as he could up to the point where he thought his uncle might be. Derek didn't dare to take his eyes away from the Kanima, watching as it obliviously tried to snap something in it's jaws on the opposite side of it's body.

“Well, it's about damn time,” His uncle responded after a moment of concerning silence. “I was starting to think that I was the only one doing anything up here.” He quipped.

Derek frowned as a moving figure in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He squinted, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him, as what appeared to be a person running on all fours alongside them, climbed onto a stalled truck on the side of the road and vaulted themselves onto the Kanima's swinging tail.

“Oh my god,” Surprise flashed through his veins, followed by respect. “Peter, are you seeing this?” He found himself asking as Scott McCall rode the bucking tail, slowly pulling himself onto the creature's immense backside and making his way towards Derek.

“I'm a little busy at the moment!” Peter indignantly yelled, the following grumble vibrating in the Kanima's chest easing the seeds of worry that threatened to sprout within Derek.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek wondered as he met Scott halfway, kneeling beside the lumpy ball joint that connected the Kanima's wings to it's shoulders. “I thought you got thrown off.”

“I did get thrown off.” Scott replied, a cheeky grin lighting up his features with a proud sort of mischief that Derek had never seen before. “You didn't think I was going to go down that easy, did you? We still have a job to do.”

Derek nodded his head, a sinking feeling suddenly taking hold of his stomach as guilt knotted his conscience. “Yeah,” He half-heartedly agreed, the arrow suddenly much heavier in his hand. “We have to save Jackson.”

“Exactly.” Scott agreed, having to raise his voice to be heard over the buffeting winds. “Is something wrong?” He innocently questioned as Derek's brow furrowed and his joints refused to move him anywhere.

Derek knew what he should have done. He'd done it before, many times, to Scott and countless others. But this time, he found that he couldn't lie. “Don't worry about it.” He said instead, cleverly evading the question. “Peter's getting hammered. We better act fast.”

“Got it,” Scott easily followed the bait. “You take the top and I'll take the side.” He said, the orders flowing out of him so naturally, it took a long moment for Derek to dispute them within himself.

“No,” He abruptly voiced, clearing his throat and starting more subtly when Scott frowned at him in confusion and slight suspicion “You take the top, I'll take the side. I've got experience with the Kanima's wings. We don't want you to get knocked off again, do we?” He convincingly argued.

Scott stared at him for a moment, gauging Derek's carefully blank features. “Sure,” The younger boy agreed after a tense minute. “Whatever works.” He offhandedly supplied, already making his way up and over the ridge of the Kanima's spine to begin the perilous trek to the Kanima's head.

“And Scott,” Derek couldn't help adding as the beta looked over his shoulder at Derek. “Good luck.”

“You too.” Scott somberly replied. And there was something in his eyes—though they were still as young, hopeful, and brown as ever—that made Derek wonder if he didn't know the real reason for Derek's elusiveness.

Shimmying his way back to where he'd been, Derek forced his mind to depart from the troubling reality of his situation and focus on the task before him. He had to make it look like he was trying to stop Jackson, not kill him, even though Derek was fairly certain that it would only buy him a few more seconds before Scott and everyone else caught onto his true plan.

“On three,” He repeated to himself, positioning the arrowhead inches away from where Derek guessed the Kanima's aortic artery was located thanks to his limited biology skills and enhanced hearing; he idly hoped the deafening flow of blood that he was listening to intently, wasn't his own.

Derek could just see the top of Scott's shaggy head from where he was clinging to the Kanima's upper shoulder and across from him, his uncle Peter was in clear view. The promise both of them and Adrianna had made resurfaced in Derek's memory, reminding him of the responsibility that lay before him.

He'd been a monster before. He'd even allowed his own betas to consider him a heartless tyrant. But Derek hadn't taken an innocent life—if Jackson's could even qualify as such anymore, although the heavy weight in Derek's chest told him it didn't matter—in a very long time. That didn't mean he couldn't remember it. He didn't think he'd ever forget that first time and all the times after.

Death was funny like that. It stuck with you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off. And so, Derek had given up trying to purge the memories of his first kill. The fact that his eyes were red now, instead of blue, didn't mean anything as long as he carried the sin in his heart.

He knew it would be the same when he drove the arrow through Jackson's vein and then his heart. Derek could only pray that he could live with himself, afterwards.

“Come on,” Peter urged him, a new cut on his forehead blistered around the edges and bleeding heavily into his eyes. “What are you waiting for? Do it.”

Biting his lip, Derek brought the glittering arrowhead to the surface of the Kanima's scales, pressing with barely enough force to dent the heavy armor. Breathing deeply, Derek steeled himself for the judging looks, the hateful whispering, the social out-casting, and the mental anguish that he was likely to go through when he killed Jackson Whittemore.

And then, he pushed with all his might and shut his eyes as blood squirted up into his face and the arrow embedded itself into the Kanima's flesh.

An ear-shattering wail ripped past from the Kanima's throat and the consistent wind and light-weight feeling in Derek's gut stopped all at once as the creature ceased it's pursuit of the black Camaro and SUV that the Argents were driving.

“Uh, Derek,” His uncle uncertainly began, bitter condescension and the first few hesitant signs of fear beginning to leak into his voice as the Kanima continued to scream, bucking and twisting as it tried to shake them off in earnest, this time. “I think you missed.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.” Derek grit through his teeth as the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. He slid down the Kanima's shoulder several meters and had to dig his foot into the space above what he assumed to be the clavicle in order to prevent himself from falling. His claws raked across the Kanima's hide, leaving a trail of angry scratches over the shiny scales and stinging blisters along his fingertips.

“Got any other brilliant ideas?” Peter relentlessly mocked from above, this time, unable to dodge the incoming tail as it slammed into his ribs and splintered bone. “Ah!” He grunted, clutching onto the still-moving tail and digging his claws through the muscular tendons.

Derek was about to reach out and help, but before he could, the enormous tail littered with razor sharp spikes and spines, pulled away, dragging Peter along with it and catapulting him up and over the Kanima's head.

“Peter!” He instinctively called, glancing up only to see Scott already looking his way from where he was perched just a few meters behind the Kanima's head. “Scott, did you see where Peter went?” Derek questioned frantically as he began to lose control over the Pandora's box of emotions he ordinarily kept tightly locked away.

“Yeah,” The beta responded hesitantly. His eyes were clouded although not overly so that Derek didn't pick up the slant of disapproval and perhaps even anger that burned in his gaze. “He seems to be handling himself. I don't think he needs our help.” Scott supplied in a clipped tone.

Derek bit down on his tongue as the Kanima abruptly jostled in the opposite direction it had been, nearly throwing him off balance. “Okay, then. Get over here and help me end this.” He waved him over.

Scott didn't move. In fact, he didn't even seem to breathe. “I don't think so, Derek.” The younger boy eventually conceded. His eyes flickered to the side, over to where the arrow was stabbed through the Kanima's thick hide. “I may be young and naive, but I'm not stupid.” Scott informed him bitterly. “Whatever you're doing, I want no part in it.”

“You can either do this on your own,” The boy who Derek finally understood was a much better alpha than he was, even without gaining the true power, set out with finality. “Or you can follow me and my plan and we can save Jackson.”

It was tempting. _Really_ tempting. But Derek wasn't a kid anymore. He'd learned when people were past saving, the hard way. And, unlike some people, he didn't have to experience the same lessons twice in order to accept them.

“I'm sorry.” He found was the only thing he could say in response to Scott's proposition before turning away to try again, one last time.

“I can't believe I ever trusted you.” Scott shouted a few moments later, when Derek had roughly pulled the arrow from where it was stabbed between layers of flesh and climbed to the center of the Kanima's chest with the weapon in one hand.

Derek didn't allow himself to look back at Scott. He had to look forward. He had to concentrate. There was no more room for mistakes. Staring out ahead of himself, Derek's gaze caught on his Camaro, which was parked on the street less than a few blocks down. The side mirror's reflected the slowly brightening sky back into his eyes and forced him to squint.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he prayed for a miracle; for some kind of distraction that would allow him to slay the Kanima once and for all.

If he hadn't been looking, Derek was sure he wouldn't have seen Adrianna Argent's distinct features staring back at him through the tiny, fragile mirror. The air charged in Derek's lungs, feeling more like electricity or gasoline than nourishing oxygen. He held on tight as the Kanima continued to spin and dive.

He wanted to say something, anything to explain the constricting ache in his heart and the tingle in his spine, but he couldn't force his vocal chords to function properly.

Thankfully, he didn't have to because not even a moment later, fiery emerald meeting dull green, a scream like no other Derek had ever heard before pierced the ozone around him, forcing the air to vibrate and the earth the rumble.

Even the sun took a moment to pause in it's slow ascent, as Lydia Martin unleashed something distinctly inhuman within herself.

Derek took his chance. His hand splayed across the scaly chest of the Kanima, right where he thought the creature's heart should be. Though his fingers were wet and slippery thanks to the blood already coating the arrowhead and shaft, Derek's grip didn't falter.

“I can't believe it, either.” He muttered under his breath, as an answer to Scott's betraying insult.

As he lowered the sharpened arrow tip over the shiny, jewel-like surface of the Kanima's skin, Derek clamped his jaw shut and dug the claws of his spare hand deep into the flesh before him as the Kanima lunged towards Lydia, having all but forgotten about him.

He pushed Scott's reaction away from his mind, his uncle's uncertain fate (what should he care about the traitorous murderer, anyway?), and the entirety of the blame and guilt he would feel after the deed was done.

But what he couldn't push away, was the memory of Paige, so young and fragile, pleading with him to kill her as agony spread through her veins. Slowly, her angelic features morphed in his mind until they resembled Jackson's the moment he'd asked for the bite. It had been his fault then, and it would be his fault now.

 _What's the difference?_ He couldn't help asking as he hesitated one second too long. _What separates him and her? What makes it any better?_

Derek didn't have the time to find out as, in the next instant, he was falling fast and far, the arrow tumbling from his grasp as he understood that he'd failed in his task when it had counted most.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The car seemed heavier than it had a few minutes ago, although Adrianna knew it was only her imagination. She'd stopped to pick up Isaac as he'd fallen from the Kanima, but even as she was reminded of his presence in the seat next to her, Adrianna couldn't tear her thoughts away from someone else.

His stare had been somehow different than all the other times Adrianna had caught him glaring at her. This time, there had been no hatred. This time, the memory of her mother hadn't tainted her in Derek Hale's eyes.

Adrianna's chest constricted, the muscles tightening as though an invisible hook had embedded through her rib-cage and begun to pull and tug with a force that could only be described as startlingly intense. Adrianna had never felt this way before.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Adrianna flexed her cramping grip over the black Camaro's steering wheel. Her eyes couldn't break away from the face in her side mirror. She'd never noticed before, how guarded those cloudy green eyes of his could be, and yet they could reflect so much emotion if he wanted them to. Now, they were clear and desperate for help; her help.

“Lydia,” Adrianna leaned slightly out the window to call over to the truck driving parallel to her. “Lydia, I need you to scream.”

The red head in the open bed frowned at her, hair flowing about her head like a halo as she pushed herself closer to the edge of the truck in order to shake her head at Adrianna. “What did you say?” Her ordinarily haughty voice, which was now streaked with muted panic and terror, asked her.

Breathing deeply, Adrianna hitched the steering wheel to the side and waited until her borrowed car had sidled up beside Lydia, to speak again. “Scream,” She instructed her friend. “Distract the Kanima.”

Lydia's lips puckered as she drew back, her brow furrowing in confusion despite the fact that she had clearly understood Adrianna's words. “Okay.” She agreed after a moment of puzzled consideration, although it seemed more like a question, than a statement.

“Um,” Isaac hesitantly spoke up from the long stretch of silence that had befallen him. “Not to seem like a pessimist, but how is Lydia screaming going to help anything?”

“You'll see.” Adrianna vaguely replied, her flittering eyes incapable of escaping the image in her head, even as she stared back out at the road in front of her. She remembered the way her mother had described Derek and couldn't bring herself to see him the same way, no matter how much bad blood still lay between them.

“Okay,” Isaac uncertainly muttered, not agreeing with her, but not discussing the topic any further. He shuffled in his seat slightly and glanced in the rear-view window. “Whatever she's going to do, she better do it fast.”

Her upper lip curled frustratedly. “I know.” Adrianna echoed, her muscles clenching so that her body molded to the chair around her.

Not a moment later, the constant buzz of the engine and the chaos beyond them—buildings on fire and crumbling, civilians evacuating, car alarms blaring, fire hydrants gushing water—was interrupted by a scream.

A smile crawled onto Adrianna's features as her ears began to ring, but just as she was certain that Lydia would push harder and scream even louder, the other girl's air ran short and the Banshee wail died on her lips.

“Shit,” She cursed foully, slamming her palm against the top of the steering wheel and having to remind her foot not to forcefully push onto the brake as the Kanima fell further and further behind. “To hell with it all. I knew this plan wasn't going to work.” Adrianna complained, bringing the car to a slow stop.

“It's okay,” Isaac reached out a hesitant hand to place on Adrianna's stiff shoulder. “What were you expecting to happen? She did exactly what you told her to. She screamed.” He reminded her gently.

“No,” Adrianna shook her head as she averted her gaze from the apologetic Lydia, who was standing up in the bed of the stationary truck beside them, her expression as lost as Adrianna had ever seen it. “She didn't use her heart, she used her head.”

The explanation died halfway out of Adrianna's mouth. How could she expect Isaac to understand, or anyone for that matter, when even she couldn't bring it to words. It wasn't something you thought about, it was something you felt deep in your bones and your very self.

“Come on, Lydia.” She silently urged the perplexed red head, watching as Stiles took her arm and began talking to her. “You can do it. Just use your heart. Use your heart, Lydia.” Adrianna chanted.

“You know, I hate to break it to you,” Isaac began, a sarcastic tone in his voice that wasn't as unkind as it was jarring and unexpected. “But you should probably come up with a new plan.”

“Shut up.” Adrianna frowned, refusing to look at him as her mother's stubbornness reared it's ugly head within her. “She can do it. I know she can.”

Isaac didn't need any further encouragement as he sunk into his chair and remained quiet. Adrianna instantly felt a guilty rock settle into her chest, but set aside the disconcerting reaction in order to keep her wary eyes on the Kanima, which was attacking Peter, Scott, and Derek with all it's might.

“Dammit,” Adrianna grumbled, clenching her jaw as the words she was about to say stung her mouth bitterly. “You might be ri—”

But before she could admit her mistake to Isaac, a seismic wail ripped outwards like a shock-wave, shattering the windows of the Camaro and pickup truck and flattening the pavement in a fifty meter diameter of them. Streetlights exploded all around, small fires were blown out, and every creature was suddenly silenced as the scream ran its course.

“Oh my god,” Isaac whispered, and it was only when Adrianna turned to gauge his reaction that she realized he had his hands firmly clamped over his hyper-sensitive ears. “What was that?”

Her eyes glittering with mirth, Adrianna glanced in Lydia's direction proudly as the young woman slouched against Stiles, all but drained by the action, and then back to Isaac.

“That...” She dramatically intoned, shifting the gear into drive and slamming down on the gas pedal as the Kanima's head whipped back in their direction and the beast began careening towards them at top speeds, once more. “Was one hell of a distraction.”

Avoiding the many potholes in front of her, Adrianna silently urged Derek to finish the fight before it could get ugly. From the many, short glimpses she snuck in her rear-view mirror, Adrianna could see that he had an arrow clutched in his hand, ready to stab into the Kanima's heart.

“Hold on,” Isaac's voice interrupted her rampaging thoughts. “What's Derek doing?” The lanky teen twisted himself in the seat to look behind them, at where Derek was poised to kill the Kanima.

“He's doing his job.” Adrianna grit through her teeth as the car plowed through a mass of twisted rebar, sparks and terrible scratching noises invading her senses as she forced the Camaro onwards.

“But, I don't understand.” Isaac naively wondered. His honest blue gaze burned into the side of Adrianna's face. “The plan was to save Jackson. What he's doing—it looks like he's trying to kill him.” He disbelievingly admitted.

“Sweetie, now is not the time to bring things like this up.” Adrianna crooned, her anger transforming into sickly sweet condescension as her spare hand began blindly searching through the back seat of the car.

“Oh great,” Isaac huffed, placing a hand across his forehead. “This is just amazing. He really is trying to kill him, isn't he?” He finally understood.

Pressing her lips firmly together, Adrianna glared into the side mirror, hoping that Derek could feel the intensity of her outrage as he continued to take all the time in the world. “I didn't say that.” She tried to discourage the young beta beside her as her fingers brushed the still hot end of her mother's shotgun and she hissed in pain.

“You didn't _not_ say it.” Isaac countered sharply. As he noticed her discomfort, he reached back to where her hand was, his long, cool fingers wrapping around her clammy, blistered ones. “What are you looking for?” He quietly added, a frown pinching his brows together.

“My pistol.” Adrianna hotly admitted, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden moisture from her eyes as she struggled with herself to push Isaac away when all she really wanted was for him to keep holding her hand. “I can't find my damn pistol.”

Her voice cracked and Adrianna was forced to swallow thickly, avoiding Isaac's curious stare. If she looked, Adrianna didn't know how or why, but she was certain that her defenses would crumble away and she'd end up showing him just how scared she actually was.

Jackson had been her friend, too. Well, not her friend—that was too close and she hadn't known him for that long—but he'd meant something to her. He was quite possibly one of the only people who would ever understand her pain; the intense fear of abandonment that often stopped her heart and clogged her veins and her unspoken rule to keep everyone at arm's length should she lose them, too.

And now, here she was, planning to kill him.

“You mean this pistol?” Isaac questioned, the familiar steel grip of her weapon fitting nicely into her open palm as Isaac uncurled her damaged fingers.

“Yeah,” Adrianna nodded her head, pretending as though the heat behind her eyes didn't exist and the tightness of her throat was simply due to too much smoke inhalation. “That's the one.” She managed to say with more strength.

Leaning forward, Adrianna checked behind her shoulder to see how far Derek had gotten and the moment she'd done so, she wished she hadn't. “No,” Adrianna barely voiced, her vocal chords pulling taut and refusing to break as she snapped back into position facing the road. “This can't be happening.” She brokenly whispered, her tone high-pitched and uneven.

“What?” Isaac demanded, their previous conversation nearly forgotten. “What is it? What did you see?”

Squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment, Adrianna searched within herself for the strength she needed desperately. She thought about all the obstacles she'd overcome in her short life, the countless monsters she'd killed, fears she'd set aside for the greater good, and boundaries she'd crossed without even noticing.

 _I am stronger than this,_ She told herself as the picture of Derek Hale falling away from the Kanima, the unused arrow still in his hand, burned into her retinas. And if only for a moment, she believed it.

“Derek's gone.” Adrianna eventually informed Isaac, her previous emotional turmoil stuffed away, deep inside, where it couldn't hurt her...for now. “He failed. The Kanima's still alive and so is Jackson. Beacon Hills is still at risk and, without some kind of intervention, Scott and the rest of us can't defeat it.” She coldly stated the facts.

Isaac was silent for a long minute, clearly assimilating her sudden mood change, before responding. “What can we do?”

The gears in Adrianna's brain turned and spun like a well-oiled machine. Not for the first time, she found herself indebted to her mother and grandfather for their cruel, but very useful training. One of the advantages that she would always have over the others in their myriad group was that she could compartmentalize; focus on the task and nothing else.

“Do you trust me?”

Isaac licked his lips before nodding a second later. “Yeah,” He affirmed, relieving an unprecedented tenseness in Adrianna's spine. “Of course I do. You know that.”

Shoving the pistol into one of the straps of her corset, Adrianna hummed noncommittally as she eyed the distance between their car and the Kanima. “When I say 'Go', I want you to get out of the car.” She instructed sternly, her foot hovering over the brake pedal as the car coasted along a particularly undamaged section of road.

“Out of the car?” Isaac repeated doubtfully. “Where am I going to go?”

“It'll be clear in a minute.” Adrianna reassured him, taking one hand off the wheel to undo her seat-belt. “I promise.” She stared into his eyes for the first time since she'd found him lying on the side of the road and picked him up, defeat scrawled across his features.

The scared paleness of his cheeks eased, natural color flooding back to the skin and giving him a faint blush. Still, the intensity of Adrianna's stare didn't let up. She wanted him to know that she meant every word she'd told him.

The last time Adrianna had promised something, it had been on the day she'd arrived in Beacon Hills when she'd made an oath to avenge Kate's death, and while that vow had yet to be fulfilled, Adrianna had every intention of honoring it, just as she would see the promise she'd given to Isaac, through to the end.

“Okay,” He breathed, reaching out to take her spare hand and wrapping his slightly larger one around it. “Why the hell not, right?” Isaac tried to make light of the situation, although the humor fell flat.

Her left hand tightened around the steering wheel as she made one final adjustment, the joint of her elbow clenching tightly under the strain of her powerful muscles. “Brace yourself.” She warned Isaac, who drew her hand into his chest and copied her actions by pinning one hand under the hood and pressing his knees against either side of the car.

When his eyes met hers, they were wide and trusting. Something warm fluttered in her chest but before it could blossom, Adrianna literally stamped it out, slamming her foot down as far as she could on the brake pedal.

The tires squealed in protest, rubber burning between the asphalt and leaving a trail of smoking residue in their wake. The last thing that Adrianna had a chance to consider before the car came to a full stop, was the condition by which Derek had allowed her to drive her car.

 _'Not a scratch.'_ He'd told her seriously, although Adrianna had assumed what he'd really meant was; _'Bring it back in one piece.'_

Neither one, unfortunately, was possible when the Kanima's long, seemingly useless legs wrapped around the car and pulled the ton of metal, along with the two passengers within it, into the sky.

“Sorry, Derek.” Adrianna muttered as Isaac laughed in surprise beside her, a hint of hysteria in his voice the further they got off the ground.

“Go!” She yelled forcefully, reaching into the back of the car in one swift motion and retrieving the broadsword she'd once wanted desperately to earn on the day of her graduation, but which she now wielded with a heavy heart. “Go, go, go!”

Shaken from his shocked reverie, Isaac sprung into action, sliding out of the nonexistent window and beginning to climb up the Kanima's long, thick legs as the winged-monster struggled to maintain it's own altitude, along with that of their car. Adrianna was close behind, making sure to avoid the talons piercing through the Camaro at random intervals.

As she and Isaac reached the Kanima's broad, sloping back, Peter and Derek were nowhere to be found. Adrianna could only guess that they had been knocked off the beast during the struggle, or else they had fled from their promise. Whichever possibility was true, it no longer matter.

She was the only one left; the only one strong enough.

The fate of Beacon Hills rested squarely on her shoulders, just as the life of one Jackson Whittemore, did.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Walking on solid ground again after being forced to balance on the tips of his toes and the edge of his claws for so long while riding the Kanima, was a foreign sensation that reminded him eerily of his recent revival.

His vision was focused and the previously present churning in his stomach due to the lack of total gravity, was gone. Peter would have been more than content to simply walk away then and there, leaving the other foolish children to their own devices, if it hadn't been for his inconsiderate nephew.

“Derek, where are you going?” Peter called out as he followed behind Derek's quickening gait, absently rubbing away a patch of crusted blood on the sleeve of his soot-stained shirt.

A very audible sigh from Derek was followed shortly by an irritated shrug as he turned to face him. “Where does it look like I'm going, Peter?” The younger man impatiently demanded, raising his eyebrows and waiting for an answer for only a few seconds before resuming his brisk pace in the general direction Peter remembered the Kanima was headed.

“To me,” He continued on his train of thought, unaffected by his nephew's lack of interest. “It looks like you're headed straight to your death.” Just like he'd planned, the blunt statement forced Derek to a stand-still. A wry smirk curled Peter's lips as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What is it now, Peter?” Derek wondered as he faced him once more, spreading his arms and gesticulating along with his words. “Do you have any kind of reason to back up your claims or are you just making excuses for saving your own skin _again_?” He reminded him.

“Excuses? Me?” Peter reeled, placing one hand against his chest as his features pinched in distress. “Now you know that my history isn't necessarily clean as a whistle, but it's not nearly as tainted as you always make it out to be, either.” He explained carefully, pressing his lips together tightly when it was clear that Derek didn't believe him. “Just because I look out for myself, doesn't make me a bad person.” He regressed, scuffing a section of asphalt under-foot which simmered with the remains of a fire. “You'd do well to listen to me more often. You'll live longer.”

“I'm not falling for your tricks.” Derek narrowed his eyes and held up a hand as Peter began to argue, several promising examples poised on the tip of his tongue. “I don't care what you call them or whether you really think there's nothing wrong with ditching on your family and friends.” His nephew interrupted. “I gave my word. Hell, we both did.” He reminded Peter somberly. “We have to stop the Kanima, no matter what it takes.”

“I know that!” He couldn't help his voice from rising as indignation boiled in his gut. “What did you think I was doing up there? Getting my ass kicked for fun?” Peter growled at his nephew, restraining the urge to throttle the young pup. “You have no right to judge me. Some of these kids don't know you well enough, but don't you ever forget that I know what the real colour of your eyes is. I know that you're not as good as you'd like people to believe.”

“This conversation is over,” Derek began to walk away. “I'm not going to abandon my pack when they need me most and I don't care what you have to say about it, or if you're going to come with me.”

“Oh, so you're just going to avoid the problem?” Peter wondered angrily, stomping after his only remaining family member. “Great job. You're reverting to your old habits, Derek. Congratulations on not seeing the point.” He mocked.

“Shut up, Peter.” His nephew grit, his pace never faltering although the tightness of his voice betrayed how riled Peter was getting him.

“No, unfortunately, I don't think I will.” Peter caught up to Derek so that they were walking side by side. “You see, I could leave right now. I could do it without an ounce of regret or moral implication and I would make out like a bandit. Those kids are too busy trying to stay alive to notice or care about my absence.”

“So why don't you, then?” Derek easily took the bait, huffing tiredly as though he could sense the oncoming explanation.

“It's quite simple, really.” He stretched his fingers wide, sharp claws extending as he marveled at the sight, refusing to meet Derek's suddenly curious stare. “I feel this dysfunctional sort of responsibility for you, alright. And I can't leave now if I know you're going to go back out there and probably get yourself killed.” In the distance, Peter could hear the Kanima shrieking in a rare display of pain, the noise dampened from the increasing distance being put between them and it.

“You know,” Derek shook his finger at Peter in an almost chastising way as a disbelieving smile curved his features. “If every word of that hadn't been an insult to me, I might actually think that you care.”

“I do care, Derek.” He rebutted before Derek had the chance to continue on a tangent. “I know that might be hard to believe after everything that's happened, but it's the truth. You're all the family I have left. At the very least, I need to keep you around so that the Argent's sole focus isn't on killing me.” He found the guile to joke.

Derek cracked a grin, breathing out a tired, caustic laugh. “You're not convincing me of anything, Peter.” He stubbornly held fast. “No matter how you choose to disguise it or if you even do care about what happens to me, running away is still running away.”

“Well, I guess that's one thing I don't have to teach you about.” Peter snarled, his pride smarting more than a little as he moved away from Derek as though he'd been physically hit. “You should know all about running away. You've done it more times than even me, I dare say, and yet, you refuse to accept how similar we both are.”

“I am nothing like you.” Derek snarled, his teeth baring into sharp fangs. “I've never killed my own family. I've never lied, manipulated, and used the people that I love for my own benefit. Don't ever compare as again, unless you want me to rip your throat out for the second time.” He threatened.

Peter laughed, deep in his chest, but the anger burning in his veins couldn't be extinguished. “At least I know who I am.” His skin began to heat up along with his blood as he pushed his nephew backwards by the shoulders. “You're still trying to fit a mold that's three sizes too big. Talia always had such high expectations for you. Imagine what she'd think if she could see you now; a failed alpha with no pack and a murderer who won't even accept his true nature.”

“Enough!” Derek roared, his eyes shining as red as hot coals. “Just leave me alone.” He continued with less force behind his words but just as much crackling emotion. “You should have stayed dead.”

A pang of guilt stung in Peter's ribs but he ignored it. This was the only way he knew how to get through to Derek. He always had to tear apart the angry shield, first, before getting to the juicy bits.

“Maybe,” He conceded lightly, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his singed jeans in order to hide the way his nails sharpened, yearning to draw blood and tear flesh. “But that's the past. Neither of us can change it.”

“I can try.” Derek argued thickly as his stare lifted up to the sky where plumes of smoke mingled with clouds and began to fall to the ground in ashy tears of rain.

“Are you willing to die trying?” Peter questioned as their argument sizzled out into nothing more than a halfhearted debate. “Because that's what it's going to take to kill the Kanima. You tried and you failed only a moment ago. Look where that got you.” He pointed out.

Derek glanced at his hand, the memory of his incompetence obviously still as fresh as their wounds. “If I don't do it,” He brokenly stated. “Who else?”

“It wasn't just the two of us in that room, Derek.” Peter's eyes gleamed sadistically as his nephew once more fell into the hole that had been dug specifically for him. “We weren't the only ones that made that promise. There's still someone else that can finish this; maybe the only one that ever could.”

“Adrianna.” He spoke her name like a dying breath, a final prayer, their last hope. If Peter hadn't been carefully leading Derek along, inches away from attaining that which he'd set out to get, he would have been more concerned about the way his nephew revered Katherine Argent's daughter.

“She's stronger than both of us; smarter and better trained, too.” He eagerly listed. “She's been preparing for this her whole life. Why should we be the ones who interrupt in her moment of glory?” He twisted shamelessly.

“Don't,” Derek abruptly choked. “Don't make this into something it's not. We both know that this isn't something to be proud of. Killing isn't a sport and killing Jackson won't be easy.”

“Okay, so there may be a few emotional bumps along the road,” He permitted Derek to win in that moment, if only so that he could win the bigger battle. “But a huntress of Adrianna's caliber and breed is sure to overcome such insignificant obstacles. She's already a murderer, or have you forgotten how easily she killed our own kind, only a few months ago?”

Derek frowned as he no doubt thought back to the many times he'd witnessed the Argent's brutality. Peter hadn't seen it for himself, but he'd felt and heard many things during and since his rebirth. Death's daughter had certainly lived up to her lineage during the few years of her young life.

“It doesn't feel right.” Derek complained, his resolve crumbing before Peter's greedy eyes. “Abandoning her like this—letting her take the fall and blame for something each of us had a hand in coming up with—it's cowardly.”

Peter would have loved to argue Derek's words for hours. To show his naive, young nephew how the world really worked. The self was always put before the others, no matter who your friends or family were. But instead, he merely nodded as though he understood Derek's turmoil, placing a comforting hand onto his shoulder.

“I know what you mean,” He layered on the sweetness, carefully steering Derek in the opposite direction that the Kanima had gone. “It's never easy to take a step back and evaluate the situation dispassionately, but it's what has to be done for the greater good.”

And the longer Peter kept justifying himself to Derek, the easier it became to wholeheartedly accept the sugar-coated lies.

**#-#-#-#-#**

He smiled as Adrianna and Isaac climbed all the way from the Kanima's feet, to its haunches. Derek's Camaro fell from the Kanima's clutches only a few moments later, exploding in a bright orange fire ball as the beast focused on Lydia and chasing after her. Finally, Scott was going to get the help he'd been wishing for.

But as his two friends neared, he began to feel an uneasy pit of dread forming in his stomach. There was something about the way Adrianna's expression was skewed that hid her emotions from him entirely, and although she'd always been hard to read, Scott found it impossible to gauge what she was thinking.

“It's about time you joined the party,” Scott cautiously joked as he bent his knees slightly to get out of the forceful winds. “I was starting to think I was alone up here.”

Adrianna's features didn't even wobble. Her lips were set in a hard line and her eyes were narrowed. Isaac, at least, had the courtesy to nod his head and allow a half-smile to pass between them, but even he seemed unusually serious.

“Yeah,” The curly-haired boy said in a heavy voice that was trying far too hard to sound normal. “We're here to help.”

This time Scott permitted himself to frown as confusion spread throughout his mind. “What's wrong?” He wondered, concerned at the state his two allies were in. “Did something happen? Is someone hurt?”

“No,” Isaac shook his head, the motion looking as though it took all of his energy to do so. “You didn't miss much and no one's hurt.” He began to explain, only to be cut off abruptly by Adrianna.

“That's enough.” She placed a steady hand over Isaac's bicep, her fingers tightening in some kind of passive warning. “We can fill him in later. Right now, we've got a job to do.” Adrianna reminded him.

Scott's eyes darted between them. He'd always known that Derek's first beta had some kind of crush on the youngest Argent huntress, but this—this was different. Their interactions were no longer as cold and formal. Warmth and trust was now strung between them. Somehow, Adrianna had begun to care for Isaac Lahey.

And that fact wouldn't have bothered Scott so much if Adrianna wasn't doing exactly what Scott would have done, if he'd been trying to break bad news to Allison.

“Seriously, guys.” He pressed, even more worried than he'd been as he beckoned some kind of answer from Isaac, only for the boy to shy away from him, averting his gaze. “Okay, come on. What's going on here?” Scott demanded.

“Nothing,” Adrianna surprised him by speaking directly to him, for the first time since they'd all left the animal clinic. “I just think everything will play out best if we forego the long and tiresome explanations and trust each other to know what we're doing.”

Scott ran a hand through his messy, damp hair. It fell over his ears in sections and had been tickling his neck and obscuring his vision for hours. When the fight was over, Scott had finally decided that it was time for him to get a hair cut.

“Stop playing games with me.” He impatiently pleaded. “This isn't about trust or time because we've been short on both for as long as I can remember.” Scott pointed out, beginning the process of elimination to uncover his friend's strange behaviors.

“No,” Adrianna conceded, her sharp green stare boring into his brown eyes unforgivingly. “This is about something much more important.”

Scott knew they weren't afraid. Isaac, he could understand might be feeling some trepidation and uncertainty, as neither he or Scott had ever faced a threat of this scale. But Adrianna, who'd hinted since her arrival that her training as a huntress had prepared her to deal with monsters _other_ than werewolves, definitely couldn't be feeling any of those things. Besides, she'd never been a coward.

“Did I miss something?” He rhetorically questioned, his hands hanging limp by his sides as he felt his brow wrinkle even further. “I thought we had a plan and everyone agreed to follow it. I thought we were talking with each other; sharing our knowledge and finally trusting that we weren't going to get stabbed in the back because there was a common goal we were all heading towards.”

Isaac's chin remained firmly pointed downwards so Scott had no choice but to continue staring off against the statue-like huntress. “What happened?” He asked again, this time with only frustrated resignation in his voice. “When did you decide that it was okay to change all of that?”

Perhaps it was a trick of the nearly dawning sun, or maybe the fatigue and lack of sleep had finally caught up to him, but as he continued to watch Adrianna, doing his best impression of honest and trustworthy—no doubt looking like the puppy that, ironically enough, Adrianna's own mother, Kate, had once compared him to—tears seemed to glitter in the huntress' eyes.

Just as he was almost certain that they'd roll, fat and disabling, across Adrianna's cheeks, she sniffed, breathing in deeply, and somehow managed to control herself. “We don't have time for this.” She whispered, almost to herself, as her features rearranged themselves into a perfect mask of indifference, from where she'd been inches away from plummeting into a dark abyss that Scott had never imagined to be within her.

She reached to her side, her nimble fingers wrapping around the handle of something that was partly obscured from Scott's vantage, and pulled out a gun, leveling it on Scott.

His heartbeat instantly quickened, blood-pressure skyrocketing to the point where he could feel each pulse in his fingers as he took an unconscious step backwards, raising his hands amenably.

“Okay, hold on just a minute.” Scott started to say, his mind running completely blank as he desperately searched for ways to diffuse the suddenly dangerous situation. “Come on, put the gun down, we can solve this like friends. Let's talk about it. I'm sure I'll understand.” He assured her soothingly.

Even though he didn't take his eyes off of the barrel of the pistol, Scott could tell that Isaac was finally looking at him. He could smell the other boy's panic and fear just as potently as he felt his own. A part of him was glad that Isaac didn't have a part in threatening him with what were no-doubt wolf'sbane laced bullets.

“You can't understand.” Isaac informed him quietly, his voice slowly gaining strength as he managed to shake off some of his shock. “I didn't understand, when she told me, and to be honest, I still don't. You've just got to trust her to do the right thing.” He nervously shared.

Scott bit the inside of his lip, jutting his chin out to the side slightly as he mulled over Isaac's words. “The right thing?” He repeated, blinking as he suddenly remembered the unusual way that Derek had acted when Scott had managed to return to the Kanima. “You're not gonna—” He tried to say, but couldn't bare to utter. “I mean, you can't be thinking what I think you're thinking.” Scott glanced back to Adrianna and a shiver rolled up his spine. “It's wrong. You know that, don't you?” He asked.

The girl, who he had to keep reminding himself was his own age, licked her lips, the steel-like grip she had on the pistol loosening ever so slightly as she allowed Scott the briefest of glimpses into her crowded thoughts.

“It's the only way.” She argued rawly.

And she didn't say any more than that, but she didn't have to. The way her lips wobbled, as though she were holding back a sob, the panic-inducing wave of tears that finally broke free from the dam she'd been stubbornly holding them back with, and the scent of fear—undiluted but courageously mitigated miles beneath the surface—did all the talking that Adrianna didn't.

For once, Scott realized that he hadn't wanted to be right.

“Was this always the plan?” He questioned as his voice strung out, thanks to the aching spread of betrayal through his bones. “Did you always know that you were going to kill him? Was that speech you made at the clinic all a lie? Is everything about you a lie?” Scott couldn't keep from wondering.

The void in his chest opened even wider, if that was possible, as Adrianna remained silent. She didn't justify her actions any further, like he thought she would have. She didn't beg him to forgive her, like he thought she should have. She didn't even allow herself to be swayed by his words, like he thought she must have wanted to. She just stood there, with her gun pointed at his chest, salty tears drying across her cheeks as no more replaced them.

“Get out of my way, McCall,” Adrianna raspily ordered, the safety clicking off before he could even blink, in one swift motion. “Or I'll shoot you.”

Scott would have liked to believe that she wouldn't shoot. That it was all some complex show Adrianna had crafted to disguise her inner conflict with the decision that had been reached in her heart, and that he could still see a sliver of redeemable _good_ inside her. But he knew her better than that. He knew that, no matter what she was really feeling, Adrianna wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger and kill him right then and there.

It was what made her who she was.

Just like Scott's often foolish, naive good-nature had made him into the person he was, now. And if he looked back at it, even though there had been heart-break and pain, Scott didn't regret it, for a second. In fact, he'd do it all over again the same way, if he could.

“Go ahead,” He invited her, spreading his arms wide from where they'd been raised in surrender, and creating a bigger target for her. “Shoot me. Kill me. Do whatever you have to do.”

Although Adrianna masked her surprise well, it was still evident in the way her pupils blew wide and dark, nearly swallowing the forest green of her eyes. She swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing as her fingers twitched around the gun.

“Maybe killing Jackson is the only way to save Beacon Hills,” Isaac spoke up as he adjusted his footing to stay balanced on the ever-shifting scales beneath them. “But killing Scott, just because he doesn't agree with us....” The boy paused, waiting for Adrianna to look over at him.

Scott felt a spike burrow through his heart as he recognized the agony of unprofessed love pulling Adrianna in two different directions. He remembered what it was like with Allison, when they'd been separated for so long because her father had discovered he was a werewolf, and he felt the pain even now, as he comprehended that it was unlikely Allison would ever allow herself to be with him, again.

It was clearly written across Adrianna's moistening gaze, how she felt about Isaac, but as Scott had secretly guessed that she might, Adrianna refused to break her stare away from him.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, completely misreading Adrianna's avoidance as the indifference she was working very hard to make it appear to be, Isaac finished his sentence with less gusto than he'd started it. “I can't be a part of this, anymore.” His voice was filled with gravel and Scott understood, for the first time ever, what if felt to be a third wheel.

“If you want to finish this with my help,” Isaac carefully measured his words, some of the confidence he'd gained after the bite returning to his posture and voice. “We're going to have to work together. No one kills anyone; we all get out of this alive.”

No one spoke as Isaac's words rung in Scott's head. Their silence allowed the mayhem beneath them to become clear, once more. Without anyone noticing, the Kanima had significantly strengthened its attack on the remaining truck which Scott guessed Chris, Lydia, Stiles, and Allison were riding in. The jeep was nowhere in sight and if Scott hadn't seen Stiles and Lydia get to safety a while before, he would have lost his mind with worry.

“So, what's it going to be?” He urged Adrianna as a wildfire sprung up in the animal preserve only a few hundred meters in front of them. “Are you going to drop the gun and help us save Jackson—because, combined, the three of us might still have a chance—or are you going to shoot me and kill an orphaned jerk that nobody likes.”

He knew he was being callous, and that reminding Adrianna of Jackson's shared situation to hers was a low blow, but Scott was desperate. He didn't know how to convince Adrianna not to kill an arrogant, insulting, selfish, totally non-deserving boy; only that killing anybody, even someone like Jackson, wasn't fair.

Beside her, Scott noticed the way Isaac relaxed as Adrianna released a heavy sigh. He foolishly followed the boy's lead, trusting his life to a connection that had never been fully explored, between the recently orphaned Adrianna, and the stuck-up, rich kid without parents, Jackson Whittemore, who had both seemed to get along during the brief times where they'd met each other as their teenage alter-egos, and not been fighting to the death as huntress and monster.

Adrianna's stare flittered away from Scott for a moment as she scanned the horizon, met Isaac's imploring gaze, and then slid back to where she'd been, all without moving an inch. Her legs relaxed their tense posture, spreading wider as the gun began to lower.

Scott breathed a sigh of relief, a smile already working across his lips.

“It's too late for that.” Adrianna surprised them all by responding. “I'm sorry, Scott, but I'm not the person you thought I was.” She apologized, no softness or vulnerability to her words as she squeezed the trigger once, then twice, three times and four before Scott could react.

And by then, both of his thighs were already peppered with bullets and his balance had already failed him. As he forced his muscles to constrict, taking a shaky step forward, the wind tore at his weakened form and pulled him away with barely any protest, straight off of the Kanima's back, into open air.

He fell and the howling wind ate up his regrets. Scott heard the dying echo of Isaac's objecting shout and the innumerable gunshots that followed, as he ripped across the sky and plummeted to his death. All the while, he couldn't shake one, outstanding thought.

_How could I have been so wrong about her?_

Not even five seconds later, Scott collided with the asphalt road. He felt his bones crack and splinter, just as much as he heard them. Breathing became torture, keeping his eyes open was an impossible task, moving from the crater he'd created was in the unforeseeable future, and preventing himself from laughing despite the pain, because he was alive and not dead, didn't even cross his mind.

From where he lay in a broken, tangled heap, his wounds slowly mending themselves thanks to a gift he'd once foolishly mistaken as a curse, Scott saw Adrianna battling Isaac in a seamless blur of ancient and modern fighting techniques, before literally shoving him off the Kanima.

He didn't stop to wonder why they had both fallen at similar heights—permitting them to live. Scott didn't even consider that it had been Adrianna's careful planning he had to thank for a handful of broken ribs and other bones he hadn't even known he'd had, instead of a shattered skull. All that Scott knew was that he'd been wrong, so very wrong, to think that Adrianna was his friend and ally.

She was an Argent, that much was clear now, and she played by her own rules.

Rules her mother, Scott hazarded a guess, would have been proud of.


	14. Endgame Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can you spot the Doctor Who reference? I love the dialogue from the 11th Doctor's episodes so BBC and Steven Moffat, forgive me. ;)
> 
> Vanessa <3

“Oh my god,” Stiles Stilinski cried from the back of the truck. “What the hell is she doing?” He wondered, neck craning awkwardly as his eyes followed the enraged Kanima and the two figures crawling up from the car in it's talons to the surface of its back. “Is she crazy?”

Chris smiled as he tore his gaze away from the rear-view mirror. He shook his head. “No,” He muttered, more to himself than anyone else as he doubted the three teens huddled in the bed of the truck could hear him. “She's not crazy at all. She's well trained.”

Because there was no other explanation for the death-defying stunt that Adrianna had pulled off in order to bring herself and Isaac Lahey back into the thick of the fight. Bravery—perhaps to the point of foolishness—and very good instincts were the only factors to blame for the success of what should have been a dismal failure.

“Dad, step on it!” His daughter's voice rang through the cab as she leaned into the open window to be heard. “The Kanima's picking up speed. If we don't match it's acceleration—” She warned unnecessarily.

“I know,” He interrupted her before she could finish. He'd heard it a thousand times. In fact, he'd been the one to teach Allison many of the things she knew now. “I'll match our speed and stay in front.”

“Yeah,” Allison's tone was tight and Chris had to fight the urge to sigh as he realized that he may have broken the fragile trust that had been forged between them through careful measures and extreme tolerance on his part. “But make sure you don't get too far ahead.”

“ _We don't want the Kanima to lose interest._ ” He quoted Allison's words effortlessly, being as subtle as he could in order not to get caught. “Don't worry,” He assured her. “I'll drive and you shoot. We're a good team, remember?” Allison nodded but didn't speak as her head disappeared from the window and only her legs were visible from where she was leaning against the cab with her bow nocked and ready.

Chris wiped at his sticky brow, suppressing the urge to spit out a volley of unsavory curses as he wished—despite his best efforts—that Allison's mother could be there to breach the suddenly expansive divide between father and daughter. 

“Oh my god!” Stiles cried loudly from the back of the truck as a bright orange and red explosion scorched the air out of the corner of Chris' eye. “Derek is not going to be happy.” He added as the charred remains of the black Camaro fell to the ground in shambles. 

On the road up ahead, Chris made note of each damaged section in order to evade them when the time came. Averting his gaze for a moment, he slid his hand across his lower calf and pulled out the pistol and switchblade he always concealed, gently placing them on the unoccupied passenger seat.

“How long until we reach the Preserve?” A feminine voice of a much higher pitch than Allison's, with a raspy dryness to it that hadn't previously been present when Lydia had spoke, wondered.

“Not long,” He recalled from all the times he and Gerard had driven to the very same forest searching for all the werewolf game they could find. “I'd say about another five miles of urban road before we reach the trails. Why, is something wrong?” Chris couldn't help adding as his brows furrowed in concern. Even though he hadn't known her for long, Chris was fairly certain that impatience wasn't a trait marring Lydia Martin's character.

“Because Peter and Derek haven't returned yet, and Scott just fell off the—the, the Kanima's back.” She struggled, her tone panicked. “He doesn't look like he's getting up, either.”

“Dammit.” Chris swore beneath his breath, the tightness in his chest finally alleviating as he permitted himself to feel the overwhelming sense of dread that he had dutifully kept at bay until then. “Whose left, then? How many are still on the Kanima?” He barked militarily, his mindset slipping away from the concerned father and into the practiced hunter. He'd worry about Scott's health, later. The boy was a werewolf, after all; he could heal, unlike the rest of them.

“Um,” Lydia stuttered uncertainly. “I don't know, I can't really see much.”

“Two left.” Allison interrupted sharply, her tone clear and even. “Isaac and Adrianna.” Despite her rough manner, it was obvious by the way that Allison placed a comforting hand over Lydia's shoulder that his daughter wasn't entirely void of manners or emotions.

“That's good, right?” Stiles shouted to be heard as he leaned into the window. “I mean, two's better than nothing. Isn't it?”

“Yes,” Chris nodded his head stiffly, refusing to turn his head around and meet the intelligent boy's calculating stare. “Definitely.” But even as he assuaged the teenager's worries, Chris couldn't shake the sickening feeling that Adrianna's sudden involvement in the fight wasn't a good thing, at all. At least, not for Jackson. 

The Kanima shrieked loudly, drawing Chris' attention to where Adrianna was darting around the club-like tip of the Kanima's tail while stabbing at the scaled skin beneath her. The Argent family broadsword, which gleamed dangerously in the cloudy morning sky, was then pulled from the hilt out of where it was deeply buried through a raw patch of scales as she resumed her attack.

He watched in confusion as the only remaining werewolf—the unlikely beta, Isaac Lahey—seemed to be avoiding his niece's blows at every opportunity, almost as though they were fighting each other and the damage done to the Kanima was merely coincidental. Chris didn't have time to puzzle over the situation, nor did he want to as they sped past a sign declaring the entrance to the forest preserve.

Trees began to spring up beside the road, thickening gradually as they drove on into the Animal Preserve. Through the tall, obscuring foliage, they descended into darkness. Just as Chris had allowed himself to relax ever so slightly, comfort easily found in the routine of their daring chase and the safety of the tree canopy from the overhead threat of the Kanima, a strange hissing sound invaded his senses as it rang loudly for a handful of seconds before fizzling out.

Not a moment later, the dry underbrush to their right erupted in flames.

“Duck!” He shouted as another hiss pierced the eerily quiet forest, followed by a sudden burst of painfully bright white and blistering red much closer to their left than the previous burst had been. “Get down!”

Without further encouragement, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison each kneeled in the bed of the truck, placing their arms over their heads as they craned their necks in confusion, searching for the source of the sudden bush fires. Chris didn't need to look or even think about it. He'd been hunting monsters his whole life and even though he'd never personally encountered a Kanima before, much less an Alpha-Kanima, he had a general outline of the capabilities of an organic body by which to base his assumptions on.

As far as he could tell, the Kanima has lost all of it's paralytic toxin following it's metamorphosis, but the fact that there had been no proof of this, had always niggled at his subconscious. Now, if he was right about the hissing sound which was always directly followed by a caustic reaction—in this case, fire—it seemed his suspicion was well-placed and the Kanima had never lost it's useful defense mechanism, after all.

It had only adapted it.

Painfully aware of the ever-shrinking distance between his car and the flaming sections of burnt pine needles and other foliage, Chris pressed further down on the gas pedal, focusing less on maneuvering around fallen debris and damaged or nonexistent sections of the gravel road, and more on the safety of his three passengers in the back, who were at even more risk of an attack than he was.

He heard the Kanima as it neared them before he saw it through the dense canopy. It's powerful wings beat like cannon-fire and forced the earth to inhale and exhale along with each stroke. Chris counted down in his head for a total of three seconds before her jerked the steering wheel to the side, evading the next shot of potent acid from the Kanima's immense jaws.

The toxic mixture missed their car by a long-shot and Chris used the creature's roar of outrage to spy for Adrianna and Isaac. He was so busy staring at them as they battled against each other, and not the Kanima, that he didn't have time to maneuver out of the way of the following stream of clear, burning liquid that unnervingly resembled the Kanima's viscous venom.

“Hold on!” He cried loudly as the car jostled, the acrid scent of burning rubber informing him that it was their tire that had been hit. The metal rim scratched against the gravel underneath, sparks showering the side of their truck and lighting into an impressive fire as friction lit the remainder of the acid.

Allison moved from her curled, protective position, towards the burning metal as though she had decided to stamp it out. “Don't touch it!” He shouted unnecessarily as panic spiked in his heart. “It's acid. None of you touch it. Just leave it where it is.” He repeated with more control as Allison's smoke-teared gaze met his. Chris was glad to see that gratitude flashed in her eyes, as opposed to the anger and indignation he found himself expecting. 

“Lydia, Stiles,” She voiced with authority as the Kanima's altitude rose and it prepared for another dive-bombing. “Get inside the truck.”

“But I thought I was the bait?” Lydia argued dubiously, quick to catch onto the main facts of the situation, even if she didn't entirely understand their actual situation. “Won't it leave if it can't see me?” She wondered.

Allison's lips pressed into a firm line as she stared up into the dampened sky where the Kanima's shiny hide could just be seen through the branches overhead. “I don't think that's a problem anymore.” She admitted, her gaze sliding over to the burning wheel-well. “And if you stay out here, you may not be alive to find out.”

“That's good enough for me.” Stiles readily agreed as he gestured for Lydia to climb through the very small, open window leading into the cab of the truck. “Ladies first.” He told her with one hand extended for her to take.

Chris repressed a smirk as Lydia ignored Stiles' offer of assistance, pushing herself head-first through the porthole window with only a second's hesitation. Hastily retrieving his pistol and switchblade from the leather seat, Chris dumped the weapons into his lap as he pulled Lydia the remaining distance into the front seat.

Stiles was next. His gangly, skinny frame allowed him to fit through the space more easily than Lydia had, although his awkward coordination resulted in a few too many bruised elbows by the time he had finally settled into his seat next to the window with Lydia pressed between him and Chris.

“There's no more room,” Lydia realized, concern painting her voice and features as she turned her head to stare into the nearly empty bed of the truck. “Where's Allison going to go? She can't stay out there.”

“We don't have any other choice.” Chris understood as he felt his daughter's firm gaze fixed onto the back of his head. The truck rumbled beneath his hands and listed to the side as they dragged their rear wheel. “We just have to trust Allison to stay safe. She can take care of herself.” He echoed the words that he'd heard Allison insisting time and again, sometimes with impatience and other times filled with rage, as understanding and acceptance finally found him.

Chris didn't see his daughter's reaction, but he could guess that it was a pleased one, as he didn't hear a word from her in argument. He'd trained her and watched her flourish into the huntress that she was today, but somehow, it had never truly occurred to him that he would have to treat her with the respect her skill-set deserved, as she joined into the family's age-old tradition.

Dipping into the tree line, chopping the top meter cleanly off of each towering pine in it's path, the Kanima came around for another attack, it's mouth wide open revealing rows of sharpened, jagged teeth which frothed with the clear liquid that it would soon shoot towards them.

“Alright,” He said to himself, loud enough so that Allison could hear him if she wanted to. “Fifty meters between us. Target attacks at twenty or less. We have ten seconds.” He calculated. “Allison,” Chris raised his voice to instruct, but swallowed his words before they could breach the air. “Do your best.” He settled on saying, instead, as he adhered to the agreement he'd reached within himself to allow his only daughter to spread her wings.

Allison grinned, her eyes shining with unshed tears despite the satisfaction in the way she effortlessly drew back the string of her bow and released a volley of arrows high into the air.

Counting down in his head once more, Chris veered to the left, unintentionally crushing his side mirror against a tree as the Kanima roared angrily before releasing it's hissing acid directly where they had once been, the gravel melting beneath the corrosive substance.

“Yes!” Stiles cheered, pumping his fists excitedly. “The force is strong with this one.” He joyfully stated.

Chris frowned, his concentration momentarily breaking from the road and towards the unusual boy. “Now is hardly the time for a Star Wars reference.” He pointed out sternly as Stiles floundered, his eyes widening in disbelief as he glanced at Chris in wonder.

“Finally,” He breathed triumphantly. “Someone understands what I'm talking about.”

The side of Chris' lip quirked upwards along with his eyebrow. “Focus, Stiles.” He urged, despite the slight urge he had to ask the teen why no one would understand such an obvious quote. “I don't care about the deteriorating entertainment of teenagers. I need to know how far back the Kanima is.” He reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.” The boy nodded soberly. “Wow, it's—um, it's gone.” He guiltily admitted, twisting and contorting to look around the car in all directions. “I can't see it.”

“Are you sure?” Chris retorted, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as fear tickled his thoughts. “He can't have gone far. Keep looking and tell me the moment you find him.” He ordered.

“Sure,” Stiles eagerly agreed as Chris dared to take a quick glance behind him to check on Allison. “What about right now? Does now work, because I see him and let me tell you, he does not look happy.” The boy informed him.

Chris instantly saw what Stiles was talking about, slamming the breaks and turning the car in a skid as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. Already, the Kanima's acid was on its way towards them. Already, it had hit its target.

But as the burning smell was carried away from Chris' nostrils, he realized that, not only was the Kanima strong and fast, but it was smart, too; incredibly so. It had learned from trial and error. Its target hadn't been their truck because it already knew that Chris could evade far too easily.

Its target was the forty meter tall redwood tree directly in front of their truck. And, as the snapping, crunching sound of the tree's trunk crumbling in on itself became known, Chris realized that the Kanima had hit it's mark, dead on.

He had only a second to decide on a course of action as they barreled towards the falling ton of wood.

Chris didn't think about Allison, who was vulnerable in the back of the truck and unaware of the threat ahead. He could only think about his speed and the distance between their car and the tree trunk.

He took a chance. A risky chance.

Chris pressed the gas pedal to the floor and prayed that he wasn't making a mistake as the truck careened on three wheels towards what could have been all of their deaths.

And then, he took a quick look in the rear-view mirror and saw where Allison was perched, at the very end of the truck's bed, and he realized that he hadn't accumulated enough speed to save her.

Before he even noted the action, his foot had moved off of the gas and onto the brake, slamming down with strength he didn't know he possessed.

A second later, as the immense tree settled to the forest floor with an earth-pounding collision, Chris was thankful to note that the hood of the truck was a few feet clear of danger, even as he saw a few new scrapes marring Allison's chin and hands.

The Kanima flew past overhead, only one of it's two enormous wings keeping it in the air. Chris squinted as he tried to understand what had happened so far above them, between Adrianna and the Kanima.

All at once, he understood as the Kanima streaked across the sky like a falling comet, what his niece was doing. His eyes filled with tears that he refused to let fall, and his chest constricted with guilt as he stepped out of the car to watch the monster and the demigod battle to the death.

“She's alone up there.” Allison concluded from where she was standing beside him, having limped to his side to watch what had captured his attention. “We have to help her.” She firmly stated, lifting her bow in her hand and slinging it across her shoulder.

“You'll do no such thing.” Chris commanded coldly, leaving no room for dispute.

Allison frowned at him, shaking her head. “No,” Her lips lifted in disapproval as she moved away from him to climb over the immense log in their path. “I may not be as experienced as any of you, but I know when someone's outnumbered. She can use all the help she can get without Scott and Isaac by her side.”

“You are not to help your cousin, Allison.” He carefully spelled out, taking his eyes away from the sight above him, to face his daughter. “This is her fight; not yours.”

Allison's eyes blazed with angry fire. “Go to hell.” She growled, marching past him stubbornly.

Chris repressed the hurt that stabbed at his heart and reached out to restrain Allison, knowing what it would do to their still-healing relationship. “Let me go!” She squirmed relentlessly against him. “Dammit, dad, get off! I can do this, I can help.” Allison persisted, her voice cracking with emotion.

“I'm not saying that you can't.” He cracked, turning Allison around in his arms and shaking her firmly. “I'm saying that I won't let you.”

“This isn't your fight.” Chris repeated quietly as tears streaked across Allison's cheeks. “Adrianna isn't fighting to save Jackson, sweetie, she's trying to kill him.” He told her, pain tearing his voice up in ribbons as he too, found it difficult to stop from crying.

“She's being the killer so no else has to be.” He explained, recalling how he'd said something so similar, only a few hours ago in the veterinary clinic. “She's taking the fall and bloodying her hands because she's the only one who can take it; who can withstand our hate.

Allison was rendered silent as he finished. The true meaning of his words hitting her just as harshly as they were hitting Chris.

He had thought that Adrianna's flexible nature would turn her from a heartless killer into a valiant hero. Foolishly, he'd allowed himself and everyone else to place their hopes onto her shoulders, believing that the most ideal solution could be reached. But this was the real world, and problems weren't always solved ideally.

Peace was paid for in blood and tears.

The only mistake Chris had made was not realizing whose blood would be spilled, and whose tears would be shed.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Each time he inhaled, his throat ached from the consistent burning that now flowed straight up from his chest and out of his mouth in a stream of acidic destruction.

He didn't mind the pain. In fact, Jackson even thought he liked the burn. It reminded him of his true goal; of the prize that awaited his murderous jaws and sharpened talons.

Lydia Martin had to die.

It wasn't anything personal to Jackson. It was just that she was distracting him, rattling the cage where he'd locked away his morality and his human conscientious, stirring up feelings that he'd rather never experience again. Sensations that pulled at his gut and weighed down his heart like heavy stones of guilt.

And Jackson, now a supreme creature of evolution by which chaos would be fully unleashed upon Beacon Hills, would not lower himself to feeling such puny and insignificant emotions.

He was so busy savoring the bloody details of the wailing woman's demise—how he would rip her apart, limb from limb, just as he'd destroyed everything else in his simplistic past—that Jackson hardly noticed the squabbling werewolves on his backside, who had chosen to attack themselves instead of furthering their assault on his badly damaged hide, until it was too late.

The pain was so intense, so entirely consuming, that his vision blacked out entirely as nothing but the frantic staccato of his loud heartbeat and the distinct absence of his left wing, could be accounted for.

A scream gurgled in his throat and tore out of his lips. No, he was getting confused again. He didn't have thin, pinkish lips or pasty skin, and his voice certainly wasn't a shrill whisper. He was scaled and vicious; a picture of ferocity and deadly force. And, with only one wing to lift himself and the remaining person on his back, he was also _falling_.

The wind tore at his scales, lifting the damaged sections dispassionately and tearing them away. A trail of green blood had, at one point, begun gushing out of the amputated stump which was all that remained of his wing. Nearing his neck, he felt the final human clinging onto his hide desperately, a sharp stabbing sensation alerting him to the weapon she still carried.

Yes, this one was much stronger than the others. He'd been a fool to dismiss her so easily but now that he was alone with her, Jackson could remedy his earlier short-comings and eliminate the threat swiftly.

He remembered her, distantly, almost as though from a dream, although the murky tint to the memories told him that she'd most likely been a part of his human and beta stages. Now, as an Alpha, Jackson had no doubt that he could dispatch her with greater ease than he ever could as a subservient beta or the greedy boy he'd once been.

Jackson twisted his immense body through the air as he attempted to shake the foolish mortal from his once pristine hide. His claws reached as far as they could, always just a few inches too far to close around the human's body. He shrieked in frustration as the girl managed to stab her surprisingly effective blade through his torn up shoulder and snapped his jaws near her head as she ducked out of the way.

He could smell it on her, now, the stench of her bloodline. She was no ordinary mortal, or any typical supernatural creature. Adrianna Argent was a most worthy opponent for him and he would have reveled in defeating her, had he not had other, more important things to be doing at that moment.

As it was, with his goals set aside in order to contend with the irritating demigod, she only succeeded in outraging him further.

Steam curled out of his nostrils as he uselessly spat his reserve supply of acid. The ground spun beneath him, or perhaps it was him that was spinning, as they continued to plummet in an uncontrolled descent. It seemed he wasn't the only one that was weakening as their velocity increased to the point where everything appeared to be blurry and distorted in his vision.

The half-blood faltered where she was, tucking herself into a small shape so that she could fit underneath his one remaining wing. The powerful gusts that surrounded them both caught hold of her, pulling her much lighter form away from her hiding place and into the open—despite the way she dug her sword through his flesh in a final attempt to remain hidden— where he could finally reach her.

With the speed of a snake, Jackson curled his clawed hands around her body, squeezing with all his might as he laughed, breathing out hisses through his forked tongue. As he stabbed the claw of his forefinger cleanly through the human's side, he pulled her towards his face, intending to cut her in half.

She squirmed, kicking and cursing loudly in a language that no longer meant anything to him. He cared nothing of her opinion of him. All that mattered was crushing her rebellion and surviving the imminent collision, which he could no longer avoid, so that he could continue on his quest.

A familiar, yet strangely alien voice whispered caustic words into his mind, reminding him of a duty. He was still a servant, somehow. To who, Jackson didn't know, but he didn't question it any further. Destruction, death, pain, strife, and suffering; those where the things which he was meant to unleash upon the world.

They became his own desires, as though they had sprung from his mind, and not the clever conscience of another. He vowed to see them done, even if they were the last things he ever did.

But as the demigod neared his open maw, only seconds away from being crushed between his wickedly sharp fangs, the first glimpse of the real Jackson shone through once more, as the young Argent shouted words in her mother tongue as a last attempt to plead with him; words that he understood perfectly.

“Quaeso, Jackson, prohibere!” She asked of him, her voice turning hoarse as she shouted to be heard over the gale-force winds. “Ne hoc facerem. Adhuc dies est, ut satisfaciam. Non possum tamen salvum te.”

Her words burrowed beneath the surface of his tough, scaly hide. They wriggled in his mind like a thousand digging ants. Could she still save him? Would he even want her to, given the chance?

Jackson was disturbed to find that the answer was yes. He did want her to save him, or anyone, for that matter. The monster was furious with him; every ounce of killer, Kanima instinct rebelled against that single thought, but he held onto it as tightly as he could.

 _Save me,_ he wanted to tell the girl, whose name had recently returned to him along with a barrage of other, crippling memories. _Please, Adrianna Argent, save me._

He didn't want to kill anymore. He didn't want to fight or destroy. Wreaking havoc only brought heat to his eyes and guilt to his heart. Killing Lydia was unspeakable. He loved her. Jackson could remember clearly now. He loved Lydia Martin with all his heart. He didn't want to die without telling her.

It was difficult—no, it was onerous—but Jackson forced his grip to loosen around Adrianna. She stared at him in wonder and it occured to Jackson that there had never been anyone he admired and cared for, as much as he did her. It was different than with Lydia. How, he couldn't explain, just... _different_.

The urge to crush her became less and less distinct, slowly being swallowed up by the desire to protect and atone for all the lives he'd cost with his foolish aspirations to become something wild and strong; something he'd never truly understood, until now.

He tucked the girl into his chest, wrapping her in his one remaining wing as the ground drew nearer. If he survived, perhaps there was still time for him to fix the things that he'd unthinkingly destroyed.

The more control he garnered over his thoughts, the fainter the voice became in his mind, screaming at him to _kill, kill, kill._ In that moment, he was in control of himself, as he always should have been. Only his thoughts ruled his actions.

Perhaps it was too little, too late, but it was all that he could give before the ground gave way to his immense body and darkness consumed him for long enough to allow the monster he'd locked away, an exit.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Derek started as the shockwave reached his ears. He leaned against a random tree in the forest and shut his eyes, drowning in his shame.

He didn't look over the tree-tops because he didn't need to. Even from his distance, he could hear bones snapping against the solid ground as the Kanima screamed murderously.

Adrianna had done what he could not. She'd taken away the Kanima's wings. She'd grounded the monster. Now, all that remained was the killing.

Beneath the roar still echoing in his eardrums, Derek could almost swear he heard a human whimper.

He started running and didn't look back.

**#-#-#-#-#**

She'd followed the streaking mass of scales and glittering metal as Adrianna and Jackson had fallen out of the sky. Lydia felt it in her bones when they hit the earth, even as they passed out of her line of sight.

A scream built up in her throat but she held it back. She was afraid. Her hands shook but Stiles didn't say anything from where he was sitting beside her.

Fear of Jackson's fate. Fear for Adrianna's life. Fear of the world she'd been pushed into all of a sudden. But mostly, fear of herself. She didn't know who she was, anymore.

Lydia didn't even know _what_ she was, anymore.

Maybe they were all monsters. Maybe they would all die the same way; at the end of each other's guns and the edge of each other's knives. Maybe they deserved to kill each other.

It didn't matter.

Deep down in her soul, Lydia already knew that they'd failed.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The Kanima's body absorbed the brunt of the impact, but Adrianna still felt the aching collision as her spine was jostled abuptly and her racing thoughts were silenced with a pathetic whimper that was overpowered by the Kanima's mighty roar.

Smoke filled her lungs and the pressing shape of the Kanima's chest overtop of her felt as though she were trapped. Warm, wet liquid coated her back. She didn't need to check to know it was the Kanima's blood.

Adrianna pushed against Jackson's belly, the lighter-coloured scales, bent and cracked, sliced into her palms. The Kanima inhaled, stealing away space from her and beginning to choke her as her chest collided with the Kanima's. She knew her body was far frailer than the Kanima's. It was only a matter of time before her bones broke.

Her bleeding hands reached out, feeling along the expanse of leathery, capillary-covered wing until her fingers brushed along hot dirt. Gasping as she felt her ribs beginning to bend, Adrianna dug her nails into the earth and began to pull herself out, wriggling beneath the Kanima's oppressive form.

With only one hand finding purchase, the muscles in her arms screamed in protest as she dragged herself out of the death-trap the Kanima's once protective embrace had become. Her upper-body free, Adrianna rolled onto her back, allowing herself to pant in exhaustion as she stared up into the sky, making note of the barely visible constellations which still shone overhead.

An ear-grating groan drew her attention back to the Kanima as she scuttled all the way free and observed the wounded creature. Its head was large, about the size of an SUV, and the crown of spiky flesh across its brow was marred with green blood dripping down its scales and onto the ground.

Frowning, Adrianna considered whether it was asleep as she took in the damage done by their fall, or perhaps comatose, but not even a moment later, its large, luminous yellow eyes snapped open to regard her.

Her heart beat fast in her chest, pressing against her sore but otherwise undamaged ribs, rhythmically. Adrianna reached out blindly, fumbling for her weapon but finding nothing but more charred, rocky dirt.

The Kanima's eyes flashed dangerously, changing from a monstrous yellow to a distinctly human blue. Confusion swam through Adrianna's mind as she became entranced by the Kanima's internal conflict.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a shining object barely hidden by the crest of dirt over the deep crater the Kanima's heavy form had punched into the earth. She only had a moment to consider her options before the Kanima drew back its lips, revealing the rows of shiny, razor-sharp teeth inside its mouth threateningly.

Adrianna shut off her thoughts and leapt to the side as the Kanima's wing spread out, nearly slamming across her back had she not moved in time. She clawed up the steep incline, digging her fingernails through the compacted dirt and kicking with her legs until she could pull herself out of the crater.

Landing on her back once more, Adrianna swallowed thickly as she listened to the Kanima's pained shrieks and screams. Even if she'd wanted to, Adrianna couldn't force herself to help.

Now was not the time for heroics. No matter how badly she wanted to save Jackson, she knew she couldn't. After all, she'd never been the hero type; roles like that fell to people like Scott with hope in their hearts and trust in their bones.

Adrianna was a girl with ashes in her soul and death in her blood.

Killing would come naturally, she was sure, but it didn't make the task easier or silence the whispers of doubt poisoning her mind. She still wanted to do what was right. She still wanted to try and save the orphaned boy, even if her efforts would end up being fruitless.

She had to try...

**#-#-#-#-#**

All the poisonous thoughts and revolting schemes Jackson had worked so hard to keep at bay, sprung forth in his moment of weakness, wrestling to overcome his determined but vastly outnumbered will.

He vaguely noticed Adrianna rolling away from him, her feet on solid ground, as he began to convulse. Bones were broken, he was sure, and the wound still spewing blood was sapping what little strength he still had, away. He felt as though his skin was on fire, a thousand burning knives piercing through every pore as his body's final defence mechanism kicked in to save his life.

Gasping, Jackson writhed on the charred, earthy surface of the crater he'd created, his hands reaching out and grabbing hold of anything they could as the pain became unbearable. His muscles coiled taut and then kept pulling, crushing his bones and tangling his veins in an experience that was as terrifying as it was agonizing.

He shrieked loudly as the ground seemed to expand beneath him, or perhaps he was simply getting smaller. A fire started in his belly and promised to remain lit for an eternity as he clutched at his head, trying to pull the multiple personalities fighting for dominance of his conscience, out of his skull.

Blinking felt as though he was staring into a sandblaster, breathing was like inhaling molten lava, and moving felt like a death sentence. Still, he crawled out of the pit his own monstrous form had created, searching for something, anything to anchor himself onto.

 _No_ , Jackson thought to himself as he felt his mental grasp slipping beneath the roiling surface of hate and violence. _Please; not again._

And even though he was certain that someone else was in his head now, pulling the strings and forcing him to his feet—his body stuck halfway between its Alpha and Beta forms as he focused on healing the internal damage and conserving energy—Jackson found that he hadn't actually expected to hear an answer. When he did, a chill settled over him unlike any he'd ever felt before.

“Sleep,” A deep, rumbling voice coerced him. It was so tempting, the prospect of rest, so alluring, that Jackson nearly gave up then. “Relinquish your mind and your body. _Serve me_.” It ordered, a threatening undercurrent taking hold in the voice.

Jackson had never been brave, he'd gotten to where he was on the social ladder through his own financial position and the careful manipulation of people dumber than him, but he'd always been stubborn and proud. Those two things were enough to light a flare of indignation within him that permitted the burning embers of courage to flourish.

He could have bowed down and done as the voice commanded him. He could have accepted the open arms of a cold, sweet darkness and never had to worry about pitiful things like school, friends, or the supernatural world he suddenly found himself a part of.

But he was proud and he was stubborn. And Jackson was very tired of doing what others told him to do. He was his own person, he had his own thoughts, he had his own motivations. Gerard Argent hadn't been able to stop him, and this—whatever it was—certainly wasn't going to be the thing that did him in.

“No,” He defiantly uttered, and Jackson was uncertain if he'd actually spoken out loud, or inside his mind, because of the intensity of his emotions. “I will not.”

Jackson could feel the creature's surprise as the picture of a shadowy figure reeling backwards began to paint itself in his head. “You dare to defy me?” It boomed dangerously.

His fists curled as he committed himself to resisting the real monster inside of him. “Yeah, I do.” Jackson casually admitted, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as his brows rose arrogantly. “You got a problem with that, bitch?” He wondered.

The shadow shook inside him, stretching outwards as though it wanted to swallow him up. Jackson invited the challenge. He was done with being a coward. It was time to prove his worth.

It was finally time to unleash his own monster.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Adrianna rolled to the side once she'd caught her breath. Jackson didn't stop her. Her mind was still racing as she fell into a squat a few yards away, her hands wrapping around the familiar handle of her family's broadsword.

She lifted herself to her feet as she heard reptilian hisses combined with human screams of pain. Adrianna cautiously tread back to the edge of the crater, her feet brushing singed pine needles and stamping out the first sparks of a fire as she watched the strange scene before her.

Writhing on the ground, his scaly skin rippling with energy as it began to tighten and bend, the Kanima seemed to be regressing from its Alpha state as the stump Adrianna had left behind of its left wing disappeared into the human plane of a shoulder and its dragon-sized head lost the spikes and jagged scales that made it appear so reptilian in the first place.

“What the hell?” She couldn't help from wondering as she stood in a transfixed daze, watching as the Kanima's shape began to resemble that of its Beta form. “Jackson, is that you? Are you still in there?” Adrianna hesitantly called out.

At first, he didn't appear to notice her question. He seemed to be trapped in a world of pain and fear that Adrianna could only begin to imagine. But, as his towering body soon reached more normal proportions—from a daunting dragon-like beast with wings to a four-meter tall fusion of a very tall, reptilian human with a sculpted forehead, flattened nose, and spiked nerve cord—Jackson turned his head towards her and blinked his disconcerting yellow eyes in vertical slits.

For some reason, Adrianna felt a sudden tugging sensation in her gut as a foreboding wind swept through the trees, blowing her frayed and burnt hair in a halo around her head.

The Kanima's lips parted to reveal rows of sharpened teeth, each of uniform size and shape. Its claws curled into fists, clear venom dripping from the keratine and informing Adrianna that, during the unexpected mutation, the Kanima had regained its iconic paralytic toxin. She could only guess if it would work on her now, or if it would be as harmless as it had been during its Beta stage.

“Puny child,” The Kanima spoke in a deep, very un-Jackson-like voice, each syllable pitching oddly, almost as though more than one person was speaking. “Your precious _Jackson_ no longer exists.” It pronounced the name like an insult, sending shivers rolling up Adrianna's spine.

Power corruscated off of the Kanima in threatening waves and set Adrianna's hands sweating as she carefully tightened her grasp on her sword. It was the kind of power Adrianna had only felt a handful of times before; god power, just like she'd sensed trapped within Luke Castellan's new sword, Backbiter.

“Kronos?” Adrianna narrowed her eyes, her head tilting to the side in trepidation as real fear stabbed her heart and forced it to punch into her rib-cage with each powerful beat.

The Kanima smirked exactly the way Adrianna remembered Jackson did, its amber colored eyes brightening with glee. “Guess again, daughter of death.” It mocked her, rising out of the hole it had been standing in to tower over Adrianna.

“This isn't really fair,” She tried to argue as she took a step back, craning her neck to see the Kanima's garrishly distorted features as it laughed. “You know who I am but I don't know who you are.” Adrianna baited.

“On a minor god, that might have worked.” The creature stated once its rasping laugh had died away. “But I am no minor god.” He assured her, slitted eyes boring into her very soul as he raised his fist over her.

“You have proved yourself a strong warrior, but alas, I have no time for pets.” The Kanima told her, its skin abruptly fluctuating between a dark, sickly green mottled with still-healing wounds, to a fleshy pink. “You must die.”

Adrianna didn't wait to hear the rest of the unidentified villain's speech. She sprung into action, darting under the Kanima's immense fist and swinging her sword through the air as she charged Jackson. The beast laughed once more, seemingly enjoying the battle as the edge of Adrianna's blade missed the scaly covering of the Kanima's nearest leg by inches.

Grunting from the effort, Adrianna slowed her run and burned off her excess momentum, crouching low to duck under the Kanima's swinging, clubbed tail which was sure to hurt if it caught her in the chest, unaware. She was tired and injured, but Adrianna refused to allow her fatigue to slow her down.

Fighting the Kanima had been one thing. She knew how to deal with regular monsters. They had simplistic goals and predictable tactics. But whatever this thing was, which had clearly taken control of both Jackson and the Kanima at some point, wasn't anything that Adrianna was prepared for.

She took a deep breath as the Kanima's claws grazed across her back, digging through flesh but not paralyzing her with its toxin, as far as she could tell. Wincing slightly, Adrianna had to quickly raise her sword up to her neck she was nearly impaled once more in her distraction.

“Jackson, can you hear me?” Adrianna grit through her teeth as she struggled to keep the razor sharp claws away from her clammy, vulnerable skin. “I know you're in there. Maybe Lydia was right and you were always there; I just didn't want to believe it.”

She twisted her sword by the handle, locking two of the Kanima's immense claws between her blade in a move she'd learned from Luke Castellan, the day he'd tried to recruit her. “You saved my life. That fall would have killed me.” She hoped to remind him, to somehow bring him back from where he'd been lost. “Tentant durius. Fortius pugnare.” Adrianna encouraged.

Her feet were lifted off the ground as she dangled from the Kanima's four-fingered grasp. Through the air she was pulled upwards until she was suspended a few feet from the Kanima's face.

“Foolish girl,” The hollow, raspy voice chastised frustratedly even as its hand began to shake. “You cannot comprehend your own fate. You and all the others will die. I will reign over this reality as I once did and all your wretched gods will sit beneath my throne.”

Adrianna swallowed her fear and allowed her anger to take control. “I don't think you should be so quick to underestimate me.” She pointed out, tensing her core and swinging her legs backwards and forwards. “I'm stronger than I look.” 

Before the beast could express its obvious distaste at her remarks, Adrianna's thick combat boots collided with the Kanima's nose as she disentangled her blade and twisted so that the sword skimmed across the Kanima's chest, slowing her fall significantly, but not entirely.

She didn't waste any time to see what kind of damage she'd done, though by the deafening roar that rung in her ears, Adrianna guessed that she'd proved her point. Running on a sprained ankle and breathing around a broken rib or two, Adrianna dashed up the back of the Kanima's knee, using the hollow space between muscle and knee-cap to vault herself across the distance to the Kanima's only remaining wing—which hung limply, the leathery skin shriveled slightly as it was clearly no longer useable—and up, onto the Kanima's upper back, where she perched on its shoulders.

Without even thinking, Adrianna narrowly dodged one of the Kanima's flailing arms just inches from colliding with her already concussed head, avoiding the sporadically placed, razor sharp spikes along the way and coming up with her sword held high in both hands, plunging it just beneath the Kanima's head, where she knew it's spinal cord was.

The Kanima shrieked this time as it stumbled on its feet, falling onto its knees and giving Adrianna an opportunity to dismount and come around for another blow. She slid down the Kanima's back and was nearly to the ground when, somehow, a strong hand enclosed around her legs and pulled her away.

“You will die a slow death for your insolence.” The Kanima rumbled angrily, dangling her upside down in the air like some kind of doll.

Indignation boiled in Adrianna's gut. She forced her aching shoulders to lift the heavy broadsword over her head as she reminded herself what was at stake. She couldn't let an entire city burn. Failing wasn't an option. Not anymore. And neither was saving Jackson, as a tiny sliver of her heart had always held out hope for.

“Let...me... _down_!” She growled each word, ending in a scream as she pulled her torn, bruised, and broken upper body so that she was nearly parallel to her legs, before slicing her heavy broadsword cleanly through the dull scales of the Kanima's wrist.

Her weapon tumbled out of her trembling hands as she, along with the amputated hand, fell to the ground. Adrianna braced herself, but it didn't make a difference. In her shape, four meters was just as good as four miles. Adrianna couldn't hold back a scream as her arm twisted beneath her, her own body weight popping the joint free and breaking several of the more fragile bones in her wrist and fingers.

Blood from the separated limb soaked the muddy ground beneath her, stinging more than a little as it seeped through her clothes and into her open wounds. Clenching her jaw tightly, Adrianna took a painful glance over her left shoulder as the Kanima swayed on its knees, staring in furious surprise at the stumpy, clean white bone protruding from the shredded, bloody mass of flesh.

The Kanima teetered, green blood dripping in copious quantities from the severed appendage as the combined injuries finally took their toll. It began to fall not a moment later and Adrianna was forced to kick with legs as heavy as lead, and pull with fingers and arms as strong as dried twigs, to crawl through the mud, out of the Kanima's shadow.

Despite her best efforts, the mud was slipperly and finding traction was nearly impossible. Her own, red blood mingled with the brown and green concoction weighing down her clothes and keeping her fingers from catching hold of anything that she could hope to pull herself along by.

Her nails were chipped and some were so damaged, they ripped free thanks to her useless clawing. She turned onto her stomach, her dislocated shoulder pressed closely to her side as she used her one good arm to keep moving.

“Come on, come on.” Adrianna tremulously urged herself as she could feel the forest go still, an ominous gust of wind blowing across the newly made clearing as the Kanima began to fall like one giant, heavy pillar, directly over top of Adrianna's position.

Her blistered fingers found a round, uprooted tree trunk and she didn't hesitate to scrape her nails as deep as she could into the bark and haul herself over. The unforgiving wood and various scratching branches dug into her stomach and pushed on every sore spot and broken bone.

Adrianna shut her eyes tightly as the chilly, grey morning light was blotted out by a dark, frigid shadow. She didn't notice the horned features which didn't match the Kanima's own shape or the glowing red eyes emblazoned into the silhouette. Adrianna only knew one thing. If she didn't climb over the log—that one, stupidly simple obstacle left in her way—she was going to be crushed.

A twig stabbed through the hole in her side that she'd forgotten about, igniting the pain that had numbed over time, all over again. Her eyes snapped open, the fog clearing from her brain as she desperately kicked with her legs, renewed strength surging through her veins as her body weight balanced over the tree.

She shoved her body to the right, not caring that her damaged arm was bearing all of her weight, as Adrianna tipped herself unceremoniously over the log, falling into the slippery mass of mud beneath it.

Adrianna breathed a sigh of relief, her back lying flat across the ground as the hairs on her neck and arms stood on end and the Kanima toppled down over her. The log was just large enough to prevent the Kanima's large skull from killing Adrianna where she lay. The Kanima's chest balanced over the log, its two arms hanging limply on either side of Adrianna as the monster's head and neck slumped at her feet.

Her breathing became erratic the longer she stared at the lifeless corpse of the Kanima. It wasn't just a monster, Adrianna knew. Inside of it, locked away where she couldn't reach, had been Jackson. He had died along with the Kanima, which meant she had killed him, too.

Tears burned Adrianna's nearly hypothermic skin as she released a ragged, strangled sob. She didn't dare to take her eyes away from the reptilian body for fear of what she would see if she looked at herself. Adrianna could feel the green, sticky, barely caustic texture of the Kanima's blood coagulated beneath her fingernails. She knew in her heart that it would never wash away just as the four-clawed scar across her back would never truly heal.

Her chest shook and made it hard to breathe. She heard her own rasping, gargling inhales echo through the air. It wasn't until she saw the luminescent glow of the Kanima's bright yellow eyes staring into her, that Adrianna realized her task was far from completed.

“No,” She choked, shaking her head as she tried to convince herself that she was dreaming. The Kanima stirred even further, its lips pulling back in a snarl and its hands reaching out to break what was left of her. “No, no, no, no! Let go, get off!” Adrianna screeched loudly as she felt the Kanima's hot breath fan across her face.

Her words bounced inside her head, echoing through the still morning as the Kanima stopped moving. She closed her eyes tightly, turning her head away as she felt its stare drilling into the side of her face. Adrianna tensed, waiting for the pain that was sure to follow.

“K—ki—kill,” She heard instead, the hollow pitch all but gone from the voice of the Kanima, permitting it to sound much more human. “Kill me.” It struggled to say in halting, difficult syllables.

Adrianna opened her eyes, a frown pinching her brow as she faced the Kanima. Air lodged in her throat and nearly caused her to splutter because, instead of the vengeful, malicious yellow gaze of the violent Kanima, Adrianna was met with troubled blue eyes.

“Jackson?” She hardly dared to speak, holding her breath as a wave of energy rolled across the Kanima's skin, shrinking its large body another meter or so and allowing some of the more distinct human features to come to light once more.

Adrianna reached out as the blue-eyed Kanima nodded weakly. The blood pouring steadily from the back of its neck and the stump of its wrist was slowly but surely becoming red, a strange mixture of the two colours producing purplish blood.

“You have to—I'm not strong enough.” He haltingly told her, wincing and clenching his jaw as his pointed, grey coloured fangs began to widen into human teeth. “I can't hold on. It's the only way.” Jackson insisted, suddenly reaching out and taking hold of her hand, his claws curling benignly over her skin.

“Kill me,” Jackson more forcefully demanded, as though he could see the battle waging in Adrianna's heart, through her wet eyes. “Before it's too late; before he gets too strong to stop.” He warned.

Adrianna wanted to ask who _'he'_ was, but wasn't sure if Jackson would answer, or if he even knew. She bit her lip as the burden she'd been carrying for hours finally settled onto her shoulders comfortably.

“Okay,” She croaked miserably, returning Jackson's grip just as firmly. “I'll do it.” Adrianna promised, her expression tightening as she began to search for her weapon.

“You think you can kill me?” He suddenly growled, but his voice was too deep and it had the same echo she'd noted before, when Jackson had been supressed by something else entirely. His fingers tightened painfully around hers until she was forced to halt her desperate fumbling and face the yellow-eyed creature.

“Me!?” It demanded irately, its features twisting with its rage. “Pathetic mortal, I have lived for thousands of years. I cannot be killed!” It bellowed.

Adrianna felt her heart beating in her fingertips as she began to loose circulation to the digits enclosed in the Kanima's half-human grasp. In the corner of her eye, the rising sun glinted off the deadly edge of her blade, only a few feet away from her and partly concealed in the charred remains of the forest underbrush. She pressed her lips into a firm line and stretched her swollen, badly bruised arm towards the hilt.

“For centuries, no one has prevailed in annihilating me from existence,” He continued to boast. His hand squeezed impossibly tight around Adrianna's wrist until she could swear she heard muscle tearing. The fingers of her right hand brushed over the leather handle of her sword, only a few inches shy of wrapping firmly around the hilt.

“Not even the gods could do so in their age of glory,” He informed her proudly, a sinister note coming to light in his voice. “Their power has come and gone as I've bided my centuries.”

Adrianna closed off her throat and swallowed a scream as she pushed her barely functioning arm the distance it needed to reach her weapon. The familiar grip slowed her racing heart and allowed her to forget her pain.

“My prison guards grow weary as my forces spread chaos and unrest,” He helpfully shared and Adrianna stored the information away for future reference as she pulled the sword closer to her and tensed her body, preparing to strike. “Heroes of all kinds, from every era have tried to stop me. Demigods, humans, and even my own children. They are not strong enough to defeat me.”

Yellow clashed with green as Adrianna stared directly into the creature's harrowing eyes. She saw truth in his words but didn't have time to think any further on the mystery as the Kanima's vertical pupils dilated, flickering over to Adrianna's spare hand.

Understanding flashed in its eyes and Adrianna acted before her only chance at killing the Kanima and whatever had taken control of it, was foiled.

“They,” Adrianna answered, her voice hoarse as she twisted her arm at the elbow and impaled the Kanima straight through the chest. “Weren't me.”

She pushed the blade deeper as the astonishment faded away from the Kanima's expression along with the haunting, yellow eyes, and scuffed scales. Adrianna didn't allow herself to release the heart-aching scream that pushed on her lungs as Jackson Whittemore, bleeding profusely and entirely human, collapsed against her sword.

He was naked but she didn't notice. All she could see was the blood, those terrible yellow eyes, and the conflicting emotions swimming in Jackson's normal, blue eyes as he reached out for her.

“You have to tell—” Jackson began, only to cough up blood as his internal organs began to crash without the support of his heart, which had been split in two by Adrianna's own sword. “Tell Lydia.” He continued a moment later as Adrianna struggled to her knees beside him.

“Tell her—I—I—I,” He struggled to hold onto his train of thought, a far-off look glossing over his eyes. Adrianna released the hilt of her weapon, wrapping her arms around the frail boy and clutching him to her chest.

“I know.” She consoled him, her aching fingers combing through Jackson's closely cropped hair. “I'll tell her you love her, too.” Adrianna vowed.

Wet tears that didn't belong to her fell across the back of her neck as Jackson relaxed into her embrace. She felt as though a hot poker had been jammed through her chest as Jackson wheezed his next words.

“It hurts,” He told her shakily, like a child seeking protection and reassurance from his mother. “It hurts so much.” Jackson repeated, hiccupping.

“It's okay,” Adrianna lied, tears racing across her cheeks as the sun's warmth finally basked across their frigid bodies. “It'll be gone in a second, sweetie.” She promised hollowly. “Soon, you won't feel a thing.”

She felt Jackson's chin dip as he nodded. His hands clutched fist-fulls of her ripped shirt. “Oh god,” He breathed, terror clinging to his voice as Adrianna's head buzzed and death approached them. “I don't want to die.” Jackson shared. 

“Don't think about that,” Adrianna replied harshly before softening her voice somewhat. “Think about all the things you've done in your life. Think about Lydia and your friends.”

“I can't,” Jackson gasped, his body shivering uncontrollably as he lost the ability to regulate his own temperature. “I can't think. It hurts too much.” He told her.

“Shhhh.” Adrianna rasped, as though she was soothing a baby to sleep. Black veins began to lift along her hands wherever she touched Jackson, spreading to his flesh soon after and draining what little remained of him into herself. “Just rest. Close your eyes.” She implored him.

His breathing sounded gravelly, blood already beginning to pool in his lungs and choke him from the inside. Even in his weakened state, Jackson managed to shake his head ferverently as the fingers of his right hand left mottled, purple bruises on Adrianna's shoulder.

“No,” He insisted. “It's too dark. I don't want to.”

Adrianna forced herself to remain strong, when all she wanted to do was crumble and admit how lost she was. Death, although it had always been a part of her life, was just as confusing and frightening to her as it was to anyone else.

“The sun's rising, Jackson.” Adrianna said instead of delving into a topic she didn't know how to handle, carefully twisting Jackson's body so that he could see the orange and red light peeking through the thick foliage. “You don't have to be afraid anymore. The darkness has no hold over the day.”

She felt him loosen his grip on her shoulder, humming deep in his throat as he relaxed. Adrianna's lips wobbled as what was left of his memories—the good and bad ones she'd never seen before, along with some that she already knew—ripped across her mind like a freight train.

“Your parents would be proud of you, Jackson.” She hardly managed to say as her voice rung high, nearly shredding. Her own tortured childhood and the ever-present ache in her chest whenever she remembered that she no longer had the chance to hear those words, directly from her mother's mouth, reflected Jackson's life and ambitions.

All along, he'd only been trying to live up to what he thought their expectations would have been for him. He'd only been attempting to make them proud, just like Adrianna knew she'd always keep trying to do, for herself.

“I'm—” Her voice cracked and Adrianna was forced to start again. “I'm proud of you.” She hardly dared to whisper.

Jackson exhaled into her side, a dry laugh bubbling out of him. “Really?” He wondered a moment later, sincere longing in his words.

Adrianna nodded her head vehemently as fat tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, slipping past her lips and filling her mouth with the harsh taste of salt mixed with dried blood.

“Really.” Adrianna affirmed in as strong a tone as she could manage.

“I'll let you know if yours are, too,” Jackson supplied after a long minute of rasping and blood-loss. “If I make it.” He added uncertainly, a quiver to his voice.

Adrianna licked her lips and ignored the impending call of death as she felt Jackson's soul begin to slip from her hold. “You'll make it.” She said resolutely.

The strength abandoned Jackson as he leaned on Adrianna fully. His limbs felt like dead weight as his head slid to her lap. “How can you be so sure?” He asked her, sounding as though he was speaking from the other end of a long, distant tunnel.

Adrianna sniffled as she squinted into the sun's rays, her hands absently combing through Jackson's hair. “I'm not.” She finally found the words to share.

When she looked away from the sun, Adrianna found Jackson's lifeless eyes staring up into the sky. It took her a full minute to gather the courage to check his pulse. When she did, she found none.

“Oh no,” Adrianna placed a bloodied hand to her lips as she tried to mitigate her despair, failing miserably. “What have I done?” She asked herself, but she already knew the answer.

She'd killed Jackson Whittemore.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Her fingers felt raw and sore from how long she'd been twirling the borrowed pocket knife between her digits. Lydia hardly noticed. The sun's light had finally begun to dapple between the high-up tree boughs, but nothing could distract her from the hollow void in her chest.

Lydia rubbed the area with the heel of her palm, grimacing as the pain intensified. A bone-chilling scream rung out through the forest, shattering what felt more and more like the calm before a storm, in an ear-aching instant.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles demanded from where he was still sitting beside her, nibbling at the edges of his fingernails anxiously as he craned his neck to look around the truck in every direction.

Outside, Chris and Allison—who still had a palpable bubble of tension separating them—stopped their hushed conversation with Scott and Isaac, who had just recently caught up to their stationary selves, to listen as the cry echoed and lingered in the cold shadows cast by the immense overhead trees.

“Not what,” Lydia realized as her fingers cramped around the small knife hilt and forced her to drop her only distraction into her lap. “Whom?”

She recognized the tone of the scream, and the awful tugging sensation in her stomach only served to confirm her guess. Adrianna had been the one to call out and it sounded very much like she was in pain.

No longer able to contain her curiosity, Lydia shuffled over the truck's bench-like seating until she was behind the steering wheel. “Hey,” Stiles pronounced in distress, his fingertips ghosting over her shoulder as he reached out to her. “Where are you going?”

Her fingers closed around the lever built into the side-door and pulled at the same time as she pushed the actual door outwards. “I don't know,” Lydia admitted as she dropped to the woody ground beneath, snatching up the pocketknife from where it had fallen onto the leather upholstery. “I just can't sit here and do nothing, anymore.”

Before Stiles could answer with what would undoubtedly be a very intelligent and persuasive argument, Lydia slammed the door shut, cutting off the boy's words before they could change her conflicted mind.

Pine needles crunched beneath her, tickling her bare feet and chaffing against the burns and cuts she'd acquired from running over the singed remains of her city's streets. Lydia careful walked towards the large, fallen log that had halted their chase. It was easily as wide as she was tall and, from where she was standing, Lydia couldn't see over to the other side.

Her hand reached out to touch the bark, rough splinters and fibers brushing against the pads of her fingers before a crippling stream of ice soaked through Lydia's spine and into her organs, slowly swallowing her up from the inside.

“Jackson.” She whispered beneath her breath as her hand drew back instinctually.

Lydia didn't understand how she knew or even why, just that the frigid clamp around her heart and the ice-water replacing her blood meant that someone was dying or already dead. A buzz in her ears told her it had to be Jackson.

She didn't question the feeling. She didn't consider it or stop to think about alerting any of the others, who Lydia could sense were beginning to stare in her direction, worriedly. She just acted.

Her feet flew beneath her, carrying her nearly effortlessly over the daunting log and into the forest beyond. Behind her, she heard voices calling her name, but they meant nothing to her. Tree branches whipped across her skin like sharpened barbs and her bare feet hardly felt as though they were touching the ground. The wind tore at her clothes and hair, blurring her vision.

For a moment, she felt as though she were moving at inhuman speeds, but, as she broke out into a clearing, stumbling over her tired feet and squinting into the suddenly blinding sun, creeping into the gray, bleak sky, Lydia's heart reminded her of her priorities.

“No,” She shook her head, red tendrils of frizzy, unkempt hair swishing into her line of sight and sticking to her clammy skin. “ _No._ ” Lydia repeated more forcefully, sweeping aside the sick, twisting roots of doubt from her mind and holding tight to the sliver of hope that remained.

She careened forwards, nearly falling head-first down the steep edge of the clearing. Lydia's feet tingled as she tread over the smoking, up-heaved earth that formed the massive crater. She wove between fallen trees and still-burning foliage, catching herself, more than once, from falling in the slippery mud as she approached the two figures huddled together on the opposite side of the man-made clearing.

“Your parents would be proud of you, Jackson.” Lydia drew close enough to catch pieces of a conversation drawing to a close. She frowned, her movements slowing as she listened more attentively to Adrianna Argent's emotional words.

“I'm—” The girl tried to say, having to clear her throat as her voice broke. “I'm proud of you.” The huntress breathed.

Their backs were to Lydia, so they didn't see her as she stood behind them, eavesdropping. Her heart was loud and frantic in her ears and she swallowed thickly, forcing the organ to calm.

“Really?” She heard Jackson's distinct voice croak. He sounded weak. No, he sounded like he was dying. Lydia stifled a sob as she watched Adrianna's back shake with barely contained tremors.

The huntress nodded her head. Lydia noticed four deep, bleeding gashes slicing across Adrianna's back. “Really.” The other girl replied with more strength than Lydia had thought she could've managed.

Blood rushed through Lydia's ears, filling the deafening silence as she stood frozen. She wanted to move, to rush forward and wrap her arms around Jackson; to comfort him and tell him a thousand more times how much she loved him. But there was something holding her back. Something in the tightness of Adrianna's hold over the dying boy that told Lydia not to intrude.

“I'll let you know if yours are, too, if I make it.” Jackson choked as Lydia forced herself to stare into the sun. Her heart, already aching from what she'd been through that night, crumbled within her chest as the boy she loved inhaled painfully, sounding as though his throat was gargling.

Lydia clamped a hand around her mouth as a tiny, pitiful squeak slipped out. Her eyes burned as tears began to fall rapidly. “You'll make it.” Adrianna seemed to pluck the words straight from out of Lydia's mind.

Jackson's head turned slightly, allowing Lydia her first view of him from where he'd been obscured by Adrianna's protective embrace. “How can you be so sure?” He asked, vulnerability shining through the uneven tones of his voice as Lydia was rendered speechless by the paper-thin, waxy complexion of Jackson's face.

Even from where she was, a couple meters away, Lydia could count each individual capillary which wound beneath the surface of Jackson's skin. Her gaze was drawn downwards, transfixed by the enlarging puddle of purple-hued blood around Adrianna and Jackson's feet.

Tingling pin-pricks began in her fingers and toes, creeping up through her arms and legs, all the way to her chest, until her whole body felt as though it were burning without any heat.

“I'm not.” Lydia barley didn't catch Adrianna's whisper as the girl's loud sniffle threatened to overshadow her words. Heat finally began to spread outwards from Lydia's chest as her figure was bathed in warm sunlight.

Adrianna's chin dipped so that she wasn't looking into the sun, as Lydia had found herself doing only a moment before. Adrianna's left hand migrated from where it was clenched around Jackson's bicep, to a familiar spot beneath the boy's chin. It was then that Lydia realized the shape that the Argent huntress was in.

Her right arm, which was hanging limply by her side, was mottled purple and had already swelled to twice it's normal thickness. Blood—both hers and Jackson's—was caked across Adrianna's back and side, mingling with the mud to make an auburn colour.

“Oh no,” Adrianna's haunted voice shook Lydia from her analytical assessment. “What have I done?” The huntress asked herself.

Lydia inhaled sharply as she waited, dread thickening her blood, to hear Jackson's weak, sarcastic response. When there wasn't any, Lydia permitted herself to panic, breaking free from her stupor to sprint across the distance keeping her from the first boy she'd ever given her heart to.

“Jackson!” Lydia cried as she twisted her ankle between a tree root and collapsed to her knees only a few feet away from her lover. “No, no, no, no, no.” She chanted to herself, not even noticing the way Adrianna stiffened as she crawled towards Jackson.

Her fingers hesitated an inch from touching his face as she kneeled beside him. Lydia could feel Adrianna's hot, incongruous stare, but paid it no mind. Overhead, the loud cawing of crows began to be heard as thousands of the dark, feathery creatures swooped through the air, circling the clearing like vultures.

A shiver crawled up Lydia's spine from her fingertips as she forced herself to stroke the side of Jackson's snow-white face. Death seemed to follow the ravens up above her as some of them perched on nearby trees, their black, beady eyes boring straight through Lydia's soul.

“Jackson,” His name died on her lips. She had a thousand things to say, but no time to utter them and no one to hear them.

Her expression pinched in agony as Lydia curled in on herself, clutching at her heart in the hopes of pulling free the troublesome organ and ridding herself of the debilitating pain.

As her despair consumed her, Lydia watched as Adrianna adjusted her grip on Jackson, moving—in what direction, Lydia didn't wait to find out—with a guilty blackness in her gaze.

“Get away from him!” Lydia screamed rawly, rage bubbling over her sadness as she pulled out Adrianna's own knife, given to her not long ago, and held the blade threateningly towards the huntress.

Adrianna's brows pinched, her eyelids were slightly swollen from crying, and raised her hands in a placating gesture, sliding out from under Jackson as carefully as she could.

“Don't touch him!” Lydia shrieked irrationally as Adrianna's bruised fingers trailed from Jackson's shoulder to the back of his neck, supporting his suddenly limp, lifeless corpse.

The huntress' lips parted, as though to speak, but no sound came out. A muscle in her jaw twitched as she tensed, beginning to bend under Lydia's hateful stare. “What happened?” She demanded roughly, the knife still between them, as unspoken a threat as the redness and blame brimming in Lydia's eyes. “You were supposed to save him. You said you'd try your best.” She reminded the trembling girl, her own lips wobbling as hot, salty tears streaked across her face.

“Is this it?” Lydia hollowly questioned, her posture sagging as she placed her spare hand against Jackson solid, un-moving chest. His eyes were still open, that light blue shade she'd always loved, dull and life-less. “Was this the best you could do?”

This time, Adrianna did break under the strain. She seemed to prepare to shout at Lydia before tears gushed out of her eyes and she bent down, using her one good hand to hide her features as quiet sobs shook her core.

Lydia didn't allow the reservoirs of pity filling up within her to be expressed. Her rage was slowly replacing the emptiness in her heart. She didn't care what damage she did, so long as that black hole inside her didn't have to exist, even for a moment.

“I loved him!” She grit through her teeth, spittle flying harmlessly into the air as Lydia forgot everything that made her who she was. “You were trained since birth to be the perfect weapon—the best hunter.” Lydia remembered Scott explaining to her exactly who Adrianna was. She'd foolishly placed her whole world on the girl's shoulders, believing that the Argent could be Jackson's savior, when all she'd really been was his murderer.

“You're supposed to be able to handle things like this.” Lydia shrilly exclaimed, pulling at her hair as the knife fell out of her hands and uselessly landed in the muddy ground. “You're the one that knows what you're doing, Adrianna. You're the one that kills the bad guys and _saves_ the good guys.” She pronounced dangerously, a silent question ringing out in the silence that stretched forth.

“I'm sorry,” Adrianna breathed as she straightened her back, showing no signs of any physical pain as she unthinkingly used her obviously broken arm to reach upwards and comb aside her frizzy hair. “I tried. You have to believe me, Lydia. I tried my best.” She assured desperately, shame in her words as Lydia refused to soften her stare. “I just wasn't strong enough to save them both.”

Lydia could see how terrible Adrianna felt. She wasn't stupid. Her grief hadn't stolen that away, yet. Pain, guilt, self-loathing, and sorrow were evident in the huntress' manner. Maybe she had tried her best. Maybe she was sorry. But, her resolve crushing whatever sympathy Lydia might have had, none of those things could bring Jackson back.

He was dead.

Unlike the last time, Lydia knew with a certainty that shook her to her core that he wasn't coming back. This was it. His end had come and gone.

Lydia shuffled to the side, holding herself together with bitterness and misplaced anger as she lifted Jackson's head into her lap. Tears soaked her eyelashes, making her vision glitter strangely as she bowed her head, salty water dribbling down her nose.

“Then what is the point of you?” She growled without daring to look at the target of her insult. Lydia wanted to make someone else hurt as much as she did. She wanted to break something with her hands and tear someone apart with her words.

She heard the others as they approached the clearing, their combined foot-falls crunching noisily across the remaining underbrush and debris. From the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Adrianna lift herself up to her feet before their company could join them.

“I loved him too, you know,” Adrianna spoke just loud enough for Lydia alone to hear, her words being pulled away by the wind before they could reach anyone else's ears. “In my own way.” The huntress explained brokenly.

Lydia shook her head, her fists clenching tightly as she could no longer resist the urge to glare at the insolent girl she'd once called her friend. “You,” She started to say, but faltered as she took in Adrianna's vastly different appearance. It wasn't that she'd changed, physically, but that her eyes had closed off like the locking doors of a bank vault and her face no longer ripped a hole through Lydia's heart. She was as cold as marble and just as impermeably.

It made Lydia feel better about taking one final strike at the stoic huntress. “You don't know anything about love.” Lydia raspily stated, turning her head so that she wouldn't have to watch Adrianna walk away, or see her reaction.

Someday, perhaps, Lydia would be ready to forgive Adrianna for a murder the keen girl knew, deep down, had been out of the Argent's control.

But not today.

Not for a long time.

**#-#-#-#-#**

The body was lighter than Scott had expected it to be, or perhaps his exhausted muscles had been so overworked that they could no longer register the weight of a human corpse any more than they could feel the countless scrapes, stabs, burns, and bullet-holes riddling his own flesh.

He and Isaac tried their best to load what remained of Jackson into the back of the truck without causing more damage. Every jostle, bump, or movement of the corpse forced Scott's heart into his throat. He was glad when it was over.

During the morose silence of their ride back into the city, Scott kept to himself, sorting through the mess of his brain as the despair and heartbreak nearly choked him. He wondered where Derek and Peter where, but quickly dismissed the sentiment as he understood that—as a group and as a pack—they were likely to be better off without the two Hales.

Scott couldn't help thinking the same about the youngest Argent, even though he felt instantly guilty for it a second later. His gaze was drawn away from a non-responsive Lydia, who'd refused to ride inside the cabin, presumably to stay by Jackson's side, towards the silent huntress.

Adrianna was eerily calm, much like her uncle, Chris, and Scott would have attributed her lack of emotion to her experience and training as a hunter—like he constantly found himself using as an excuse for something he didn't know about her—if there hadn't been dried tear-tracks streaking through the blood and grime coating her face.

She'd felt something, that much was clear, and by the way her eyes were firmly set on the sun rising in the distant horizon, Scott could see that she was bothered by the new amount of distance placed between her and everyone else in the truck. Adrianna wasn't heartless, Scott concluded, not yet.

But he was still mad at her for shooting him, even though there were countless other factors that pointed towards her overall good intentions. For one thing, the bullets hadn't been laced with wolf'sbane, as he'd originally thought, allowing him to heal much faster; and the fall hadn't been high enough to kill him. But did that mean he had to be grateful?

Scott didn't feel grateful. He actually felt pretty used. He didn't care that her betrayal had been meant for the greater good of the situation. Scott had thought that he was her friend; she should have trusted him. He imagined Isaac, who had yet to even look in Adrianna's direction—staring resolutely at his interwoven hands and nothing else—felt much the same.

Looking out at the barren roads, Scott was surprised to see people beginning to emerge from hiding, already helping those that had been injured or trapped by one of the fallen buildings.

He frowned as they passed a police cruiser, the deputy standing nearby shouting instructions through a megaphone. “Please remain calm,” The officer's voice boomed, piercing Scott's ears. “Reports have come in and I'm happy to announce that the catastrophic earthquake and consequent gas-main explosion have been neutralized.” The man in his twenties smiled, repeating the message.

“If anyone experiences dizziness, nausea, hallucinations, or post traumatic stress of any kind, please inform a nearby deputy or other, emergency personnel and you will be escorted to the hospital immediately.” A different man, this one an ambulance paramedic, spoke into another megaphone.

“What's going on?” Stiles asked, the first to recover from his shock. As their car drove past, his eyes followed the flashing emergency lights. “Doesn't anybody know what really happened?”

“They can't see what we can,” Adrianna supplied, her voice detached and cold. “Even if they could, their minds are too weak to assimilate all that data. They can't cope so they fill in the blanks with the most convenient, plausible story.”

“You mean they didn't see the Kanima destroying the city?” Scott found himself wondering. “How does somebody miss something that obvious?” He rhetorically questioned.

“It doesn't fit into what they've been raised to believe.” Adrianna shrugged, the red and blue reflections from nearby illuminating her features strangely as she turned her head away, a glossy sheen appearing over her eyes. “People see what they want to see.” She mysteriously stated.

The truck rolled over a broken lamppost as it turned into the hospital parking lot, the conversation effectively terminated. Time slipped by quicker than normal in the alarmingly quiet hours of the morning and before Scott had even noticed, Jackson's body was back in his arms and he and Isaac were being lead through one of the many back-entrances to the morgue.

Scott recalled each step they took. It had been the same path he and Isaac had walked what felt like decades ago, to sneak Jackson's body out of the morgue in the first place. Now, with none of the pressure of an oncoming battle and all of the weariness of a part-defeat, Scott swore he would never allow history to repeat itself.

“Never again.” He spoke out loud as Jackson's unseeing eyes stared up at him from the cold stainless steel table, a body bag covering the bottom half of his body. 

Gathered all around, Isaac, Stiles, Deaton—who'd been waiting for them at the hospital—and Scott's mom, all looked up at him. There were tears in some of their eyes, while others held their expressions firm. Beneath the surface, they were all just as broken and worn-down as he was.

“Scott,” His mom gently spoke, stretching the arm she had wrapped around Lydia's shoulders so that her fingers brushed his bicep. “This wasn't your fault. You can't possibly blame yourself. Don't put that much responsibility—” She began to chastise in her typical, understanding mother voice.

“This _never_ happens again.” He stubbornly interrupted. He didn't move away from his mother but there must have been something in his voice that caused her to pull away and allow him to finish.

When he met her gaze it was proud, her trembling lips pressed together firmly as she tried to stay strong.

“We set out today to save Jackson,” Scott reminded them all. Beside him, he heard Lydia inhale raggedly as she held back a cry. “There were obstacles in our way;” He recounted.

Scott looked across from himself at his best friend. Stiles' eyes were moist but he wasn't crying. The downward slant of his eyebrows and the somber clench of his jaw were enough for Scott to know how Stiles was feeling.

“Gerard Argent tried to kill us with an army,” Scott uncoiled his shoulders, straightening his posture as he became the beacon of strength that his best friend was searching for.

He looked over at Isaac, next. “We fought him and some of us got hurt—some of us didn't know what we were doing—but it didn't matter,” Scott copied the dip of Isaac's chin as they nodded at each other in respect.

“We won.” He told each of them. For the first time since the death of her mother, Allison met his stare, head on. Her eyes were endless brown pits of emotion. For a moment, Scott thought he'd drown.

Clearing his throat, he continued. “We found allies in people we never considered to be our friends.” Scott recounted, his gaze sliding over to Chris Argent, who raised his brows in agreement. “We fought impossible odds—a hunter with a life-time of experience and knowledge—and we managed to do it because we stood together.” He concluded.

Scott leaned against the metal table, the cold sting imprinting itself into his palms as his eyes found those of his mentor, Alan Deaton. “None of us thought we would be alive right now.” He breathed deeply as he thought about all the things he had yet to learn.

The Kanima, Scott knew, was just the beginning. Time and again, Deaton, Adrianna, Chris, and many others had reminded him that he was out of his depth. It wasn't until that moment, staring at the cadaver of his failure, that Scott understood what they'd all meant.

“But we're here,” He shakily went on. “We're alive, in spite of everything that's happened.” Scott searched for Adrianna in their group and only found her when he craned his neck to the far left.

Her eyes were glossy and dark in the fluorescent lighting of the morgue, a sharp contrast to her pale, nearly translucent skin. She blended into the shadows so well, Scott had to wonder whether he was imagining her presence, or not.

“Yes, we failed.” Scott forcibly pronounced, taking note of the way Adrianna's posture tensed. “Yes, we couldn't save our friend.” He callously pointed out, his grip over the table tightening to the point where he began to feel the metal bend beneath his grip.

“But we tried out best,” He regressed, allowing a small amount of his shame to pitch in his voice. “We worked together and we used everything we had.”

“So it wasn't enough? What else could we expect?” Scott questioned thickly. “We're kids. A few months ago my only worries were getting my grades up and getting off the bench in lacrosse.” He nearly laughed but it fell flat before the noise could exit his throat.

 _Lacrosse...._ Scott thought back to all the times Jackson had fought him over the stupid sport. Now, he would do anything to have one last argument with the arrogant boy. _What am I going to do? I'm just a co-captain?_

He met his mother's gaze, firm and supporting. Then Deaton's, which was proud but also a bit scrutinizing. Scott was reminded of how little he knew about his boss, but couldn't dwell on it any further. He needed all the help he could get.

Finally, his eyes found Adrianna's once more. She was leaning against the opposite wall, her back pressed up against one of the sealed latches Scott distantly comprehended that more dead bodies were hidden behind. She didn't seem as bothered by the notion as he was.

She was the monster in this story. She was the killer, the murderer.

Which meant that he was the hero.

Scott forced his chin to dip in respect, no matter how much he wanted to yell and demand answers from the ambiguous girl, because, in a hidden place he rarely delved deep enough to find, Scott knew that none of tonight's victories—as shallow and insignificant as they seemed in the aftermath of it all—would have been possible if Adrianna hadn't done what everyone else was too afraid to even think about.

“We made mistakes,” He openly stated for everyone to hear. “Stupid, amateur mistakes that cost lives.”

“Gerard Argent,” He began to list the casualties on his right hand. “Victoria Argent, Matthew Daehler....” Scott hesitated, his free hand reaching out to gently press Jackson's scarily pale eyelids shut.

“Peter and Derek are gone,” Isaac spoke up, his eyes never leaving from a seemingly interesting spot on the tiled floor. “Erica and Boyd, too.”

Allison's heeled boots shuffled as she added her own casualties. “People were living in those houses and buildings that were destroyed.” Scott watched as Chris took his daughter's hand, giving it the reassuring squeeze that Scott wished he could have.

“Don't forget about the deputies,” Stiles chimed in, each word heavy on his friend's tongue. “I'm pretty sure I saw my dad's entire force out there tonight and the station got hit pretty hard.”

Stiles stopped before he could go on to describe just how totally demolished the Sheriff's station was. Scott was grateful for Lydia's sake as she hesitantly parted her lips to speak.

“And Jackson,” Lydia bit her lip as her hoarse voice cracked. “We couldn't save Jackson.”

Silence rung out as each of them absorbed the severity of their failure. Countless lives lost. Too many. Far too many. Scott had never wanted anyone to get hurt. He'd only been trying to do the right thing, but perhaps his optimism and stubborn inability to consider Jackson's doomed fate from the very start, had pushed up the death toll.

“My mother,” Adrianna reminded them all from where she stood. She lifted her gaze to each and every one of them, shouldering the pitiful, hateful, uncertain, and condemning stares. “She's the one that started all of this. Maybe she deserves to be on that list of yours.”

Her brows rose, challenging Scott and even though she was just as tired as anyone else—perhaps more so—and a deep, half-healed gash marred her cheek, he floundered, speechless. “Yeah,” He finally managed to utter beneath her intense, green eyes which he now understood held more secrets than he cared to unravel. “Katherine Argent.” He finished, nearly all ten fingers burdened by a name.

“We'll do better next time.” Stiles assured him as the dead stacked up over Scott's conscience. No one dared to contradict him. Deep in their bones, they all knew this wouldn't be the last time they faces insurmountable odds. “We have to.”

Scott swallowed thickly, nodding his head in agreement. “Never again.” He echoed his first words, this time, with less certainty as he began to doubt whether his shoulders alone could carry the burden.

“Never again.” His mother affirmed.

He looked into her eyes and saw how he looked like, from her perspective. He saw a man, strong and resilient, standing firmly against a storm he had no chance of fighting, but doing so anyway because of his own obstinate bravery; because, if he didn't do it, no one would.

In that moment, Scott vowed to shape himself into the reflection he saw in his mother's eyes. He had to become the leader his friends needed him to be. Without Derek or Peter there, Scott didn't have much choice in the matter.

He needed to become the alpha of his own pack.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Scott's words still rung in his head. They were just as clear as the memory of finding Jackson's pale corpse in the forest clearing, but even they couldn't compare to the shock he'd felt when he'd seen Adrianna's blood-stained self standing over Jackson. It was a shock that had yet to wear off.

“I can't believe you killed him.” Isaac abruptly spoke as his ears picked up Adrianna's movement towards the double doors that lead out of the morgue. Almost everyone had already left save for him, Adrianna and Stiles, and at the harsh tone of his words, Stiles quickly scuttled outside.

He felt the huntress' angry stare on the back of his neck. It made his skin crawl to remember how intoxicating one look from her could be, and to know that absolutely nothing had changed, in that regard. He still felt like a fool and, perhaps most importantly, Isaac still wanted the kiss she owed him.

“You can't believe it?” Adrianna sharply retorted. “Or you don't want to?”

Isaac's hunched over the metal surgery table, every muscle tensing as he fought the urge to turn around and break her bones between his hands. He doubted he'd get far, even if he gave in.

“A bit of both, really.” He conceded, his fingers brushing over an impressive array of scalpels, forceps, and other sharp, prong-ended tools he didn't know the names of.

“You must hate me, then.” She concluded dispassionately. He could feel the gravity in the room increase as she circled his position. “Just like everyone else.” Adrianna muttered under her breath, allowing her armor to slip off ever so slightly for the first time in many days.

Anger burned his throat, forcing his next words to come out sounding acidic. “I'm not playing this game with you.” He growled, whirling around to face her.

She was right in front of him, so close, he could smell the rusty scent of blood emanating from her red-stained clothes. Adrianna was still wearing the same leather corset. Isaac couldn't keep himself from wondering how many weapons she had stashed away on herself, ready to be used at a moment's notice—maybe on him.

“Game?” Adrianna narrowed her eyes as everything about her became suspicious and poised to attack. “I wasn't aware we were playing a game. Won't you please enlighten me, Isaac?”

His stomach did a cartwheel as his name rolled off her tongue. Isaac blinked forcefully to clear the image of her amused expression from his mind. When that didn't work, he turned around again and leaned his elbows against the metal table's edge.

“That game where you pretend to open up,” Isaac explained quietly into his shirt, refusing to even think about Adrianna's reaction as he finally named the twisted, poisonous thing that lay between them. “Where you act like you care about me, and then I find out that you've been using me the whole time.”

He heard her heart stutter and hated the sliver of hope that cracked through his defenses because of it. She hesitated, mulling over his words before giving him an answer.

“We're not talking about Jackson anymore, are we?” Adrianna caught on, her voice lilting with caution and what might have been fear or anxiety. Which, Isaac couldn't tell.

“No,” He bitterly spat, rubbing at the sore point between his eyebrows as he tried to clear his head of distracting thoughts. “We're not.”

“Then what are we talking about?” Adrianna pressed.

Irritation ignited within him as the final tie holding back his emotions snapped cleanly in two. He shoved the table away from him, delighting in the loud, destructive screech it made as it skidded across the room and slammed into the adjacent wall. His hand prints were molded into the table's top.

“Are you really that blind?” He shouted as the top of his lungs, expelling the pent-up aggression and frustration he'd been holding back for weeks. “Can't you see that I like you? That I've always liked you?” Isaac wondered, harshly pulling his fingers through his hair.

“Derek saw it and I'm sure Scott knows.” Isaac listed dangerously, his eyes burning gold as he began to lose control over himself. “Scratch that. Everyone's probably figured it out. It's not like I've been subtle.” He berated himself, beginning to pace.

“But you,” He felt his lips pull back in a snarl as he met Adrianna's confused green eyes. “You don't have a clue.” Isaac realized, laughing derisively despite the chill suddenly spreading throughout the room, informing him of Adrianna's shift in mood.

“You tease me senselessly and you use me to get back at Derek in the war of wills the two of you have going on,” Isaac understood, shaking himself as the truth settled into his heart. “But at the end of the day, it's just a game. You don't care about me. You never have.”

“You don't know what you're asking for.” Adrianna quietly responded to his heated rant. Her hands were clenched by her sides as she stood perfectly still before him.

“Don't I?” He shot back. “I'm a monster and you're a monster. How could it be so bad?” His fingernails curled inwards, sharpening into points as his ears tuned into the rushing sound of Adrianna's blood.

“Can't you just leave me alone?” She demanded, her own rage kindling as she took a heavy step forward. “Just listen to what I'm saying for one damn second.”

Isaac smiled cruelly, his enlarged fangs slipping partly past his lips. “Not a chance in hell.” He assured her.

Adrianna's pale cheeks colored angrily as she growled deep in her throat, but soon after, choked down her anger. Isaac couldn't stand it. He was itching to fight, to draw blood. He launched himself at her before he could think.

Her bones collided with his pleasantly and he snarled in satisfaction as she deflected the swipe of his clawed hand with her left wrist. “Isaac, stop this.” She panted, sweat collecting along her brow.

He responded by digging his nails into her sides and shoving her into the wall. Tiles cracked as their combined weight slammed onto the porcelain surface. Adrianna inhaled sharply, pain that he didn't notice or care for, coating her features.

“Let me go.” She ordered weakly as something wet and slightly viscous slathered against his palms. Isaac snarled as she produced a long hunting knife, part of a set, and held it tightly in her left hand. “Don't make me do this.” Adrianna pleaded with him.

He howled as the blade sliced over his chest, drawing back before charging the huntress again. She braced herself against the wall, the cut on her cheek seeping new blood as it reopened from the trauma of their collision.

Isaac felt a thrill as her knee pulled up to make enough space between them for the knife to cut through the air in front of his nose. He wrapped his clawed fingers around her throat and easily slammed her right shoulder backwards against the wall.

He expected her to curse at him and fight with even more vigor. Instead, she cried out in agony and permitted her hunting knife to clatter from her weakened grasp. The huntress collapsed against him, her body weakened, and the reaction was so unexpected to Isaac that he unthinkingly took advantage of her disarmed state to wrap his hand around her neck.

Isaac leaned in close, her terror and indignation pungent in his nostrils as she opened her eyes with renewed strength and head-butted him. Their skulls collided painfully and Adrianna used his distraction to lock her hands around the wrist leading up to the hand clenching her neck tightly.

“Let me go,” She commanded with more conviction. Black veins crawled across the top of her palms, leeching the strength from Isaac's muscles as they crept over his skin. “ _Now._ ”

His eyelids grew heavy, new, foreign memories slipping through his mind as his hold over her loosened enough for Adrianna to break free from his grip and twist around, pinning him to the wall with her own hand around his neck.

Triumph glittered in her gaze as she stared at him, draining every ounce of him away. He breathed raspily and the sound seemed to shake her from whatever power-driven reverie she'd been held in.

Adrianna drew back, clenching and unclenching the fingers of her left hand as she avoided his curious stare. “Trust me, Isaac,” She lightly began, her anger all but drained away. “You're not a monster.”

He reached out and grabbed onto her, pulling her into him again. Her shoulders shuddered as though she were repressing the urge to cry. “I've met monsters. I've fought and killed them.” She whispered, not at all scared of being so close to him, even after he'd tried to kill her. “Today, I became one.” Adrianna shared warily, the layers of her disguise stripping away until all that looked up at him was a beaten, injured, frightened girl bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“How could you kill him?” Isaac dared to ask as his rage drifted to the back of his mind. “I knew you were strong. I knew you'd killed before, believing that each creature was nothing but a mindless murderer; a hazard to society. But I never thought that you'd be able to kill a human being.”

Without even noticing, his nails began to shrink back to normal size, the heat siphoning away from his eyes until they were their normal, light blue.

She looked like she wanted to give in; to tell him every torturous second of her struggle as she reached her final decision. But then, Adrianna did what she did best; she closed off and avoided the question entirely.

“Why did you save me?” Adrianna beckoned an answer, her eyes boring holes through Isaac's soul even though she barely reached his chin. “That day when I was dying and Derek told you not to help me. Why did you go against your alpha for me?”

She stared downwards, then, at his chest. He felt her balance swaying slightly as she was forced to lean on him for support. “I'm no one special.” Adrianna explained self-consciously. “I spared your life once and since then, I've tried to kill you twice more.”

“Three times.” Isaac corrected, a grin sliding across his features despite his intention to remain angry.

“You see,” Adrianna latched onto his words, gesticulating her point. “My mistakes and transgressions have far out-numbered any favors or good deeds I've done to you. And yet, you saved me.”

“Why?” She repeated.

He avoided her eyes. They would be his undoing, he was sure. The moment Isaac looked into her wide, forest green eyes, he knew he couldn't keep a secret worth anything from her. Instead, he focused on the angry red gash in her cheek, tracing it with his thumb.

“I—” He struggled to say, finally taking notice of how close they were. If he bent his head a few inches, he could kiss her.

Adrianna leaned into his touch and the sensation of falling—which he remembered vividly—took over his insides. She stared straight into him, seeing past the violent wolf that would have made anyone else run for the hills. He had to work hard to keep himself from turning to putty in her hands.

“I saved you because,” Isaac frowned, wracking his brain for any other possible reason for saving her besides the three impossibly strong words he wanted to tell her as he remembered her betrayal.

“Because?” She prompted, her eyes sliding half-way shut as the distance between their lips shrunk. Isaac hadn't even realized that he'd been leaning in, too.

“I—” He stuttered, their breaths intermingling.

Only a moment before, he'd been trying to tear her apart and now, he was millimeters away from kissing her and sealing his fate. But that was how it was with Adrianna, how it had always been. She worked in extremes when it came to expressing her emotions; cold or hot, but never warm.

He wanted to burn. Isaac wanted, maybe more than he'd ever wanted anything else, to kiss her and tell her how he really felt. But he knew, somehow, that it would never work. Sooner or later, the lies would catch up to them and they'd be left with more damage than either one of them could heal.

While it lasted, Isaac was sure that it would be spectacular. But when it ended, because it would end, he would be ruined.

So, as much as it killed him to do so, Isaac pulled away from her soft, pliable lips without ever tasting them and uttered the words he knew would perfectly convey where he stood, without having to dapple in the messy world of love.

“I don't know.” He confessed to her.

Isaac didn't think he'd ever lied as badly as he did then, but Adrianna's response—which started as aching hurt in her eyes and mutated immediately after into a glacial facade of indifference—assured him that he'd made the right call, even as his heart seemed to rip in two when she walked out the door without so much as a backwards glance in his direction.

“Oh my god,” Isaac called upon divine strength as he rubbed his aching head. He remembered the last time he'd done so, a night before accepting the bite, and hoped that asking for a little guidance would work out as well as it had, last time, this time around. “Please don't let me regret this for the rest of my life.”

**#-#-#-#-#**

Sheriff Stilinski was hiding from the press inside the hospital.

Sure, he had plenty of other reasons for being there. Only a minute before, he'd been taking statements from his deputies and begun the tiring task of creating a report for the FBI, who would no doubt be wanting an explanation for the damage and loss of life done in Beacon Hills that night.

But, if he was being honest, he was just there to hide from the reporters and their insensitive questions.

From one of the windows in the lobby, the Sheriff could see the flashes of their cameras and the greedy uproar of their collective interrogations as a couple walked out of the hospital with minor injuries. Shaking his head, the Sheriff turned around from the sight and pulled an exhausted hand through his prematurely thinning hair.

“Damn vultures.” He cursed the news vans and desperate reporters under his breath as the stench of sanitization became entrenched in his nostrils. Mr. Stilinski hated hospitals for that exact reason. Even when you left the place, the pungent scent of bleach, chlorine, hand sanitizer, and iodine stayed with you.

“Sheriff,” One of his senior deputies called out, the tired lines on her face matching his own as she waved a clipboard in the air. “Do you have a moment?” Tara Graeme asked, despite the fact that the Sheriff knew he didn't have much choice in the matter.

Duty called. “Go ahead, Tara.” He waved her along, taking note of the bags weighing down the deputies eyes and the frizzy state of her hastily tied back hair.

Pressing her lips together, Tara approached him, hefting the clipboard in her hands like it weighed a hundred pounds. “The family of the deceased are here.” She quietly began, caution in her every word. “They've identified the body. They want a cause of death.”

“Body?” He pressed the bridge of his nose, siphoning one more burst of strength as he tried to decode the deputy's plain words. “I thought we were still getting patients in. Have we already gotten the body count?” The Sheriff wondered, searching blindly for an answer he couldn't find on his own. “Are people coming in here to ID victims?”

“No, sir. We're still taking in survivors. We don't have the staff on hand to start a body count for at least another hour.” Tara assured him, the slope of her brows pitching downwards as she frowned, flipping through the pages on her clipboard. “This body was passed through the morgue about ten hours ago.”

Dread suddenly did a canon-ball in the Sheriff's stomach as he leaned against the nearby nurse's desk, ignoring the narrowed look he received from the nurse behind the counter. “Do we have a name?” He warily questioned.

Tara nodded, her index finger skimming along the pristine report and sliding to a stop a moment later. “Whittemore,” She read out loud. “Jackson Whittemore.”

Shutting his eyes, the Sheriff clenched his hands into fists as the digits began to tremble. “Ah, crap.” He swore. Over the past month, Beacon Hills had seen more dead bodies and murder cases than it usually did in a year, but this one, in particular, struck a chord.

“The victim's a seventeen year old male.” Tara went on to say, confusing his reaction with one of obliviousness instead of the recognition it was. “According to this he went down on the lacrosse field early last night. Autopsy was scheduled for this afternoon but I'm not sure if the hospital will have to change that due to the sudden...influx of patients.” She chose to describe the situation far more clinically than the Sheriff would have.

This wasn't just a busy day at the hospital. This was his worst nightmare served to him on a cold plate before breakfast and coffee. To make matters worse, Jackson Whittemore's family was waiting somewhere in that very hospital to hear the cause of their son's death. Only, he didn't have an answer for them.

“Yeah, I remember the case.” He informed Tara as she stared at him expectantly. “I was there when it happened, actually.” The Sheriff remembered, his voice stringing out as his mind was drawn back to the sudden darkness, deafening screaming, and heart-wrenching fear he'd felt when his son had gone missing.

“Well, uh,” Tara faltered, tucking the clipboard beneath her arm as she licked her lips nervously. “They're in the lobby. Both of them have been stirring up a storm since they got there. They've been asking for you, threatening a law-suit if they don't get answers soon.” She told him.

A heavy sigh slipped past the Sheriff's lips as he shook his head. “Of course they are.” He muttered to himself. “Like I don't have enough problems to deal with.”

“Should I tell them you'll speak with them?” Tara wondered, her brows rising as she waited for his response.

“No,” He breathed tiredly. “Just bring them up to speed on the situation. Let them know we haven't done an autopsy yet and that getting answer is going to take a while.” He managed to say, rubbing at his frowning brow with more force than necessary.

“Okay, Sheriff.” Tara agreed, watching him carefully as she undoubtably picked up on his irate mood. “What should I do if they don't leave? The father, he says he's a lawyer. We won't get into any legal trouble for turning them away, will we?” She questioned.

The Sheriff's final nerve snapped as hot acid coated his throat. “I don't know, deputy. I don't have all the answers!” He all-but shouted, garnering frightened stares from the hospital staff and patients mulling through the hallway busily. “Just do whatever you can to get them out of here. I'll meet with them tomorrow and set everything right.” He fought against his illogical anger and pushed down the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatened to consume him, focusing on one thing at a time.

“Can you do that, Tara?” The Sheriff wondered, his voice holding less strength. “Please?” He desperately added, a thick lump lodging in his throat stubbornly.

Deputy Graeme nodded her head, her dark skin seeming to absorb the overhead flourescent lighting and appearing waxy as she walked away in the same direction she'd come from. The Sheriff knew he probably looked worse, much worse.

As he was left alone, the Sheriff moved away from the front desk. The hospital's incessant chatter was digging further under his skin than he realized. Nurses and doctors were barking orders in harsh tones, patients were moaning or screaming in pain, and he had absolutely no way to help.

He walked down the corridor, allowing his feet to take him wherever they wanted to go. The Sheriff shut off his clamoured thoughts and sleep-deprived mind, relishing in the quiet buzz that filled his ears as he distanced himself from the chaotic frenzy.

Now, there was nothing but his own breathing and the rhythmic sound of his footsteps to guide him. The Sheriff knew he should have been using every spare second he had to accomplish the mountain of tasks he had to do. He hadn't checked up on Stiles yet, and even though he'd seen the kid a few hours ago, a lot had happened since then. Then there was his role as unnoficial leader of the town. Everyone was looking to him for answer he didn't have.

Lying and being clever with his words to stall for time had never been one of his strong suits. The only reason he'd become a Sheriff in the first place was because he enjoyed the quiet work of a detective. This flashy, overwhelming crime-scene catastrophe stuff was way out of his league.

Without noticing it, he'd ventured down a deserted corridor that he vaguely recognized. Of course, he knew every knook and cranny in the building, thanks to the time he'd spent there when his wife had gotten sick. But this was different. This was almost...fresher.

A sign overhead informed him that he was in the pediatric wing. The long wall of glass windows looking into the hospital's nursery was only a few meters in front of him. As he caught sight of the tables within the room, sleeping babies held overnight for examination or fighting to stay alive after being born too early or too sick, stopped him in his tracks.

It had been a long time since he'd stood outside those windows, peering in to catch a glimpse of his own child. He still remembered what it felt like; the exitement, the fear. It was just as potent as the day it had happened, nearly seventeen years ago.

His fingers pressed up against the glass as he unthinkingly approached the windows. He knew it wasn't permitted, but a part of him yearned to reach out and pull on the doorknob to his left. The Sheriff needed to see what he was fighting for. He needed to touch the last semblence of true innocence in this world.

A shadow in the corner of his eye forced his spine to go rigid and his fingers to halt where they were, the warmth in his digits being replaced by the cold grit of the stainless steel knob.

The Sheriff swallowed, his free hand migrating to his side and hovering over his gun's holster by pure instinct. He didn't call out or announce his presence. The element of surprise was his only ally. He moved with stealth as the door swung open without a sound and he stepped into the room.

“He didn't want to do this to you,” A quiet, tender voice spoke as the Sheriff carefully took his gun out of his holster and held it at the ready in both hands. “He tried to save your mother, but his master had other plans.”

Confusion swirled through the Sheriff as a streak of sunlight slipped through the dusty blinds of a small, nearly forgotten window and illuminated the shadowed person. He placed each boot on the tiled floor slowly, making certain that he didn't wake any of the sleeping babies or alert the figure of his whereabouts.

He held his breath as the shadow, which seemed to be speaking to a baby in a cot near the edge of the room, lifted the child up out of the bed and into it's arms. The Sheriff swallowed thickly as he balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting to learn more before he jumped to any conclusions.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him the shadow—which he recognized as a woman by the tone of her voice—meant no harm to the baby.

“Look at you,” The woman exclaimed in awe as she held the baby with both hands. “You don't know how the world works, yet. Little Cassie, so young and naive.” She crowed sympathetically. “Eventually, the sorrow will catch up with you. You'll feel like there's this hole in your chest you have no chance of filling.”

The Sheriff felt his lips pulling upwards as he overheard the strange conversation. He wondered if he was dealing with a nutjob who was trying to steal the baby, or a nutjob that was trying to traumatize the baby. Either way, it didn't end well for the baby.

“Trust me, little one, I know how the story goes.” The shadow moved, one hand reaching out to stroke across the child's face. “I'm living it.” She cryptically shared.

He removed the safety from his pistol, narrowing his eyes and internally cursing as a click echoed through the room. The woman didn't seem to notice as the baby started crying, finally shaken from her slumber.

“Hush now,” The figure consoled, drawing the baby into her chest and rocking the small child, humming the way Mr. Stilinski remembered his wife had done when she had no clue how to stop the wailing and allowed pure, motherly instinct to take over. “The world's not as bad as you might think without a mother and father to guide you.” She added.

The Sheriff mentally ran through his list of criminals, searching for a match on a young, orphaned woman with a possible M.O. for breaking and entering. Even though he didn't have an eidetic memory, he was fairly confident with his result when nothing came up. If he'd dealt with a wacko like this, he would have remembered.

“It's not all dreadful.” She went on to describe. “You'll make friends and find role models that might be willing to take you under their wings. Sooner or later, you'll realize that the deep, dark ache in your heart you've been too scared to tell anyone about, is gone.” The woman placed her hand over the baby's chest as the crying ceased all at once. 

The figure moved and the Sheriff was forced to remain where he was, hardly breathing, in order to remain hidden by the shadows of the room. She stood in front of the small window, the outside light, slanted by the blinds, tore across her features. Mr. Stilinski couldn't hold back a gasp as he recognized the girl before him.

“One day, you'll finally be able to glue together all the broken pieces.” Adrianna Argent gently affirmed to the child in her arms looking up at her with big, glossy, wonder-filled, blue eyes. “One day, you'll find yourself smiling and laughing without a care in the world and the name orphan won't mean a thing to you.”

Adrianna's distinct, brownish-blonde hair fell forward in a curtain as she bent her neck to kiss the baby's forehead. She was dressed strangely, in a leather jacket of some sort and tight jeans, combat boots laced firmly over her feet. The sleeves of her shirt were torn in places, what seemed like blood and deep cuts marring her pale flesh.

The Sheriff didn't have time to wonder what had happened to her or why she was in the pediatric ward, of all places, talking to a baby that had no relation to her—as far as he knew—because her words carried him away.

“May you never know the cold sting of abandonment,” Adrianna whispered against the baby's skin. “May your heart remain soft and open; don't let the world spoil your innocence.” She pleaded.

Through the dim light, the Sheriff could see Adrianna's whitened teeth as her lips drew back in a sad smile. She rocked the baby back and forth like she knew how. “Live simply and don't ask too many questions, they'll only land you in trouble.” She advised seriously, her brows pinching. “Don't believe anything the adults tell you about love. They're just as bad at it as the kids are.”

A laugh slipped past the girl's lips, but it sounded more like a strangled whimper. “I hope you're loved all the days of your life. It's nothing to be afraid of. But most importantly,” Adrianna lifted the baby off of her hip and into her arms, holding her far enough away so that Mr. Stilinski could clearly see her expression.

“Give out a shit-load of forgiveness.” The teenager swore, her voice crackling with emotion as she sniffled. “If you don't, you may find that when you need it most, the people you've denied it to will do the same to you, as you've done to them.”

“And believe me,” Adrianna gravelly stated, sounding as though she was barely holding back tears. “It really sucks when that happens.”

The lights flickered on abruptly as the door behind him opened with a swoosh. The gun felt heavy in his hands and he instantly felt guilty for eavesdropping and assuming the worst, when Adrianna turned around to face him.

“Oh,” The nurse chimed between them apologetically. “I didn't realize anyone was in here at this time. I'm sorry, Sheriff. I didn't mean to...interrupt.” The middle-aged woman settled on saying.

“No,” He quickly eased the woman's worries, stowing away his pistol as non-chalantly as he could. “It's no problem. We were just—”

“Just saying our last goodbye's to Cassandra Bartlett.” Adrianna interrupted as the Sheriff floundered for a way to legally excuse their presences. “She's being adopted today, right?” The young woman brightly asked the nurse.

Frowning for a moment, the woman nodded, easily accepting the not-so-convincing information as she laughed to herself. “Yes, of course.” The nurse agreed, placing a hand to her chest. “Silly me, I completely forgot you had visitation booked.”

“Visitation?” The Sheriff repeated, barely above a whisper. He shook his head as he wondered if he'd gone mad. He was a hundred percent certain that neither he, or Adrianna, were near enough of kin to any of the babies in the pediatric wing for visitation.

“Hold on a minute,” The synapses in his brain finally connected, firing off as comprehension dawned. “Did you say Bartlett? As in, the daughter of Jessica Bartlett, a murder victim in the Matthew Daehler case?” He pieced together.

The nurse blanched, averting her eyes from his intense stare. “Well, I'm not entirely up to date on every child's backstory,” She regressed slightly. “But I do believe you're correct.”

“Thank you for allowing me a few minutes with her, ma'am.” Adrianna brushed past Mr. Stilinski's shoulder, the baby still firmly held in her arms. “It means a lot.”

She hesitated for a long minute before handing the baby into the nurse's open arms. “Make sure she's taken care of.” Adrianna called after the nurse as she took the baby and made her way down the corridor.

The gray-haired woman turned around to look back at them, a smile on her face as she nodded. “Sure thing.” She agreed.

Mr. Stilinski shuffled on his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck as he considered how he could get out of the mess he'd made. “Um,” He started to say, awkwardness pitching every syllable. “Why did you need to say goodbye? I didn't think you knew Jessica.”

Adrianna didn't acknowledge his question and he was partly glad for the opportunity to start again as the teenager busied herself adjusting a bandage the Sheriff hadn't noticed was wrapped around her right shoulder and wrist.

“I mean,” Stilinski tried once more, gesticulating with his hands as he looked back into the now bright ward as the shrill cries of awakening babies echoed through the nearly deserted hallway. “What was so important that you had to tell her?”

This time, Adrianna turned to look at him, her often piercing stare levelling directly over his sheepish blue eyes and making him feel about two feet tall. “You and I both know that you were listening to every word I told that baby,” She flatly exclaimed. “So cut the bull and ask me what's really on your mind.”

He cleared his throat, unable to hide how flustered he was at having a girl his son's age, pushing him—the Sheriff of Beacon Hills—into a corner. “Well, not all of it.” He tried to downplay, scratching behind his ear and finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with the keen young woman lifting her brow in disbelief at him.

“Okay, I got the gist of it.” He admitted after another long moment under Adrianna's unnerving stare. “But what I don't understand, is how you know so much about the Daehler case.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Did Stiles tell you? Maybe Scott?” The Sheriff probed. “Because if they did, I'm not mad. Disappointed and betrayed, yeah, but I won't punish them for it. They were probably only trying to help, anyway.” He ended in a guilty breath.

“I could tell you.” Adrianna replied, pulling away so that she could look into his eyes once more. “I could tell you about everything.” She smiled, a hint of cruelty glittering in her eyes as he waited patiently for her to finish. He was desperate for answers. His town was going to hell and he had no way of stopping it.

“But,” She stretched out the word, licking her lips as a note of superiority took hold of her voice. “I don't think you'd want me to.”

“You don't think...” He echoed, shaking his head in confusion as he drew back, shocked. “I think it's up to me to decide what I want and don't want you to tell me, young woman.” The Sheriff reminded her in his most threatening dad voice.

“It is,” Adrianna affirmed, mocking humour present in the way she exhaled, the tip of her nose crinkling ever so slightly with the urge to laugh. “And you've already made it.”

She walked away without another word, leaving the Sheriff to puzzle over her meaning. _Maybe she's right,_ he found himself considering. He remembered all the strange, unexplainable things that had happened over the course of his career as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. How many times had he been willing to believe those lousy, hole-filled stories just to maintain a sense of security, of control, over his reality?

Too many times. Too many cases left unanswered. Too many questions abandoned in fear of what the answer could mean.

But was he willing to risk everything he'd ever worked for, just to know the truth that he'd been denying himself his entire life? The Sheriff feared he'd already reached his conclusion a long time ago. His reaction to the most recent disaster was only further proof.

He'd felt it, just like everyone else. That tingling at the base of his spine and the feeling that he was missing the most vital piece of the puzzle. Like he was staring at an abstract painting and just had to decentralize himself to see the full picture he'd only gotten too good at ignoring.

Sheriff Stilinski was too comfortable with seeing what he wanted to see. Perhaps it was time to think outside the box. If the state of his town was anything to go by, he was running out of time.

Maybe he had to work on changing his mind.

**#-#-#-#-#**

After what felt like her whole life's worth of misery and suffering expelled through hot, inescapable tears, Adrianna's eyes finally dried. She found herself sitting down on the park bench placed just outside the hospital's front entrance.

Her body felt much heavier than it should have but Adrianna disregarded the sensation as an after-effect of her fatigue and injuries. She made sure to keep her right arm still by her side as it was still mending. Adrianna had refused the sling Deaton had offered to her on the grounds that it would make her stand out in a crowd and draw far too much attention to her.

What she really wanted was to be left alone and she couldn't do that if nurses were fussing over her and trying to drag her into bed.

It was mid-morning now and the traffic of cars and emergency vehicles pulling into the parking lot had dwindled away to a mere handful every hour. Adrianna basked in the warmth of the spring sun. Already, summer was in sight. She would have been glad for the change in season, if it hadn't meant that she was needed elsewhere.

“What you did today,” Her uncle's distinct voice began as he sat down to her right. There was a comfortable distance between them. Not too far to be considered strangers, but not too close where Adrianna felt smothered. “It was brave. Really brave.” He told her.

Adrianna felt her lips rise in a hollow, meaningless smile. “My mother would be proud.” She imperiously stated. “Isn't that what you're going to tell me?”

Chris sighed heavily as his answer hesitated to breach the air. “You're right.” He conceded, threading his fingers together as he leaned back against the bench. “I was going to say that.”

To any passerby, they would simply look like two random people relaxing after a difficult night. No one could know that the events which had all-but razed Beacon Hills to the ground, had been partly their fault. “But?” Adrianna coaxed grudgingly, sensing that her uncle wasn't finished yet.

“But making anybody proud, shouldn't matter.” He surprised her by amending, angling himself so that he faced her, one arm slung across the backrest of the wooden seat. “Killing Jackson took guts. I can see that, even though some of your other friends can't. It was a sacrifice, not a victory.”

“They're not my friends.” Adrianna stubbornly avoided the meat of the conversation, licking her lips and turning her head so that she wasn't looking into Chris' deep, wounded eyes.

“Maybe not,” Chris agreed, shuffling away as he detected her frigid mood. “But they'd be stupid not to be. Even Scott couldn't deny that the few battles we won today, were in part because of your efforts.”

Adrianna felt the resignation and shame stab through her bones. She let the feeling consume her as she slumped against the chair. “I'm no hero.” Adrianna felt the need to voice once more. “The expectations all of you had for me—I can't reach them. _I can't be good_. I don't know how.” She stressed.

Chris breathed out a laugh, although it was equal parts melancholy as it was amused. “Being good isn't the point,” He seemed to be quoting, his stare becoming one of remembrance. “Trying your best to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is; that's the point.”

“Killing Jackson wasn't the right thing.” Adrianna argued, her heart not in the conversation as she absently carved her chipped fingernail into the rotting wood of the bench beneath her.

Her uncle shook his head as he watched her burn Greek letters into the wood with only her fingers. “Letting him live would have been worse.” He gently reminded her.

A caged, skittish sensation overtook her as she sensed the conversation delving into serious, heart-felt territory. She'd felt enough for a lifetime in that one night. Anything more and Adrianna was sure she'd explode.

“Allison doesn't know, does she?” She hurriedly changed the topic, subtlety at the end of her long list of worries. “You didn't tell her how her mother really died.”

Guilt was clear in the way Chris' brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a straight line. “No, I didn't.” He plainly attested. “I wanted to, but after everything Gerard has put her through—” He broke off, at a loss for words.

“You thought she'd take it better if you waited?” Adrianna asked simply out of courtesy. She already knew that her suspicion was correct. “You're right about that. Just don't wait too long. Allison's inherited the Argent thirst for vengeance and she hasn't been a hunter for long enough to know the consequences of that rage.” Adrianna reminded Chris.

Nodding along to her words, a strange light caught in Chris' eyes as he stared at Adrianna. “You two are cousins and nearly the same age.” He pointed out. “—And you know what it's like to be manipulated by Gerard.” He emphasized, the fingers of his right hand twitching nervously as he seemed to want the undoubtedly comforting grip of his gun in his hands. “Why don't you talk to her? Treat her the way you'd want to be treated, if you were in her exact position.”

Irritation flared in Adrianna's gut as she momentarily forgot her weariness. “I've been in her position before,” She unnecessarily growled. “And if there was anyone that Gerard delighted in abusing the most, I would easily steal the prize from all of you.”

Her stupid voice cracked as annoying tears gathered in her eyes. Adrianna hadn't ever cried this much before. She was already tired of it, pressing her eyelids closed for a long minute and tightening the iron fist holding all the broken shards together as she leveled her breathing and regained a semblance of control.

“I know,” Chris rasped, clearing his throat loudly as he too, seemed to have trouble restraining the despair bubbling within him. “But I don't know what else to do. I can barely talk to her anymore without stepping over some imaginary line and bruising her feelings.” He shared sadly. “She's not the same anymore and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it.”

“Victoria would have known.” He gravely admitted. “But she's not here.” Chris swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Adrianna noticed that his eyes had red-rims encircling them. “I'm taking her to France for the summer. Maybe a change of scenery will help.” Chris hoped, reaching out and taking her cold hand in his warm one. “We're going to live in the villa we still have there. You remember it, don't you?” He beckoned.

“How could I forget?” She smiled despite the ache in her chest as she recalled the chaos her presence had caused at the airport, even as a young girl, and how protective Kate had been of her. “That was the first and last time I ever set foot inside an airplane.”

The corners of Chris' lips turned upwards as his expression perfectly mirrored Adrianna's. It was sad thinking about her mother in the past tense, but, like all things, Adrianna was slowly getting used to it.

The hot knife her loss had once felt like, had dulled to a numbing needle that spread the feeling all the way to her toes. She basked in it, knowing with unusual wisdom that the day she no longer felt any remorse or anger following the death of someone she loved, was a day she would have lost herself completely.

“Why are you telling me this?” Adrianna wondered. She could guess her uncle's motives easily, but she wanted to hear the words from his own lips, to memorize the specific lilt of his voice as he asked her.

“Because,” Chris heaved a sigh, releasing her fingers as he stared out into the parking lot, towards the truck they'd all come here in. She could just make out Allison's shape in the passenger seat, from her vantage point. “Because I want you to come with us.” He settled honestly.

Her mind went back to her youth. She'd barely been five years old when Gerard and Kate had decided to move to France. They'd made some kind of excuse about following a rogue pack of wolves, but Adrianna had been the real reason. That house, perched on a vineyard and overlooking a dusty cemetery, was where she'd been trained. It was where she'd grown up.

All her best memories came from those six and a half, blissful years before she'd turned twelve and started running from the monsters. Eventually, she'd learned how to fight them. Now, the monsters ran from her.

“I think it'll be good for her,” Chris went on to explain, his gaze remaining fixed on Allison. “It'll be good for all of us. We'll have a chance to mend ourselves and prepare for whatever's next.” He assured her.

She wanted to say yes. Her skin tingled as it yearned to feel the hot sun beating down on her back. Her eyes teared at the thought of seeing the sword arena and firing range. Her fingers ached to brush away the dust shrouding her past and touch a piece of her mother again, even if it was only in memory.

But then her mouth ran dry as she pictured Allison in her daydream. The rift between them which had been pulling them both in diverging directions for the past few weeks, was bound to widen much further when her cousin discovered that all the Argent history which was new to her, had always been a vital part of Adrianna's life.

“ _I can't._ ”

The words tore into her throat, burning her tongue.

Chris bowed his head in disappointment, biting his lips earnestly. “I understand,” He kindly responded, although the light in his eyes had dimmed significantly. “I had a feeling there would be too many memories there for you to face so soon after your mother's death.”

Adrianna was glad he wasn't being delicate with her. She'd earned that much respect from him, it seemed, for him to know that avoiding the truth was one of the gravest insults he could ever deal out to her. Kate hadn't 'passed on', been lost somehow, or left to go get milk. She was dead. Period. End of story.

There was, of course, always a part of Adrianna that held out hope. It was the itch at the back of her neck she couldn't ever scratch and the shadow clinging to the edge of her vision. Adrianna doubted she'd ever appease the sensation of uncertainty.

“It's not just that,” She felt the need to reveal more to Chris. Those two words, no matter how hard they'd been to say, weren't enough. “I—” She struggled to explain. “The battle might be over for you and Allison, but it hasn't even begun for me.”

How could she put the tugging in her stomach and the lightning in her veins into sentences that Chris would understand? It was such a primal instinct, Adrianna couldn't even distinguish it from the process of breathing. People just inhaled and exhaled. It wasn't something they thought about or puzzled over. It just happened.

Chris didn't understand her fully, as she knew he wouldn't, but he waited patiently for her to find a way of conveying herself before jumping to conclusions. Her hands clenched into fists as she averted her gaze from the truck, staring at the sidewalk underfoot.

“There's this unsettling sense of dread in my soul,” She began quietly, unaccustomed to speaking her mind after so many years of repressing and obeying. “I can feel it like thunder in the sky. You can't see it, but you know it's real.”

Her hand drifted over her chest where her fingers curled inwards, making a claw of sorts that yearned to rip her own conflicted heart out of her chest. “The real fight's not over. I'm needed somewhere else.” Her voice drifted along with her thoughts as she absently finished, the urgency boiling in her blood to make Chris understand, evaporating in an instant.

“You're talking about this... _camp_ of yours, aren't you?” Chris caught on.

Adrianna was strangely grateful that her grandfather had informed her uncle about the remaining part of her life that hardly anyone knew about. New York and Camp Half-Blood were just as important to her as her own family. She nodded mutely, unable to coerce anymore words out of her mouth.

“Okay then,” He accepted easily, pushing off of the bench and standing in front of her. “I won't try and stop you.” Chris assured her. “Just remember that, whenever you're ready, you still have a place in this family.”

Adrianna doubted Chris' words, but didn't say so out loud. Instead, she allowed a polite smile to curl her lips as she nodded her head. “Thank you.” She told him before he left.

The angry, festering doubt gnawed at her thoughts, nearly managing to distract her from the more pressing call to arms which howled through the wind. Chris had meant well, but his words only served to open up a void of uncertainty within her that had been present since the moment she'd existed.

_Am I an Argent?_

She'd always thought of herself as a warrior, a hunter. She couldn't escape being a half-blood and an orphan. But was she really an Argent, or just a weapon brought to life by one Argent and crafted by another?

Adrianna didn't know.

She forced herself not to dwell on things she couldn't control and focus on something she had actual power over.

Adrianna stood up and began walking further into the hospital's parking lot. She had her eyes set on a shiny, black _Triumph_ motorcycle whose owner was held up nearby, arguing loudly with police officers over a parking infringement.

Her leg hitched over the metallic beast's side, sliding snugly into the foot-well as her nimble fingers unlatched the plastic cap covering the key-slot and keeping the wires beneath it from being exposed.

Adrianna smiled as she hot-wired the motorcycle exactly as her mother had taught her on her sixteenth birthday, what felt like a decade ago. She hadn't known then that it would be the last full day she spent with Kate, but it made the lesson all the more valuable to her, now.

Folding the kick stand, Adrianna revved the engine, grinning mercilessly as the furious owner yelled after her, cursing and swearing as he pushed past the stunned police officers and raced after her.

Pressing down the accelerator, Adrianna roared down the street, leaving more than just the man shouting behind her and the city of Beacon Hills, in her rear-view mirror.

With nothing but dust, the motorcycle's snarling engine, and the afternoon sun beating down on her, Adrianna buried down her misery and enjoyed the ride as she began the long journey across the country, to Long Island, New York.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Gerard Argent was choking on the side of the road, drowning in the black, tar-like substance that his body had begun spewing since the moment Derek Hale had bitten him, activating the mountain ash he had been secretly poisoned with, and setting off a series of chain reactions that had left him here.

Failure was a new, intriguing sensation to him. He'd never felt it before. He never wanted to feel it again, if he could help it.

The bright headlights of a car swept over his hunched over form, burning his eyes and forcing him to squint as the light remained firmly pointed towards him. He frowned as he was forced to cough up another phlegm of poisonous bile, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him as a figure stepped out of the truck, their treaded boots crunching over the gravelly road.

“I thought I might find you here,” A familiar, very smug voice chimed from above. “You always had a way of sliding past everyone's defenses, unnoticed. Like a snake.” Alan Deaton appraised, bending down so that his face was at Gerard's eye-level.

Insults were plentiful in Gerard's mind, but he held back his tongue. Fire burned in his tear-stained eyes as he accepted Deaton's outstretched hand, pulling himself to his shaky feet. The dark-skinned veterinarian, for the most part, managed to keep his own amusement in check as Gerard settled into the passenger seat of the vehicle.

“Since you're here, helping me,” He finally permitted himself to speak as the car rolled along. “And since it's rather obvious where the knowledge Scott McCall based his plan upon, came from,” Gerard strung out, wiping away the slick, suffocating liquid from under his nose with his sleeve. “I think it's safe for me to assume that your retirement was short-lived, Alan.” He couldn't help but prod.

The other man sighed. Gerard could see a hint of amusement and respect in Deaton's eyes when he turned away from the road to look his way. “Why is it that everyone keeps assuming I was retired in the first place?” He wondered exasperatedly.

Gerard chuckled, his throat constricting and strangling him as he coughed, hacking to try and rid himself of the viscous substance which seemed to be trying to coat his lungs. “By everyone,” He gulped down a large breath of air, accepting the handkerchief from Alan's outstretched hand. “You mean your sister.”

The druid's forced calm gave way to surprise as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I can never understand how you find out these things.” Alan shared grudgingly. “Yes, Marin came by to see me.”

“Then you understand why I had to take certain steps?” Gerard questioned, his eyes narrowing as Deaton's aortic artery thickened, his pulse quickening. “You've unraveled the mystery behind the Kanima, haven't you? I suspect you have. It wasn't that cleverly shrouded in deception. Not my best work, but, as you know very well, I was under a tight deadline.” He stated.

“Understand?” Alan repeated, his brows rising although he neglected to take his eyes off the road. “Yes, I understand. I just don't agree.”

“I've been doing this for a very long time, Alan,” He reminded the man harshly. “Your permission and approval mean nothing to me.”

“But my opinion. Now that's something you can't deny needing.” Deaton countered factually.

Gerard grunted but didn't dare admit his error. “The sacrifice I made by creating warriors out of both of my granddaughters is no longer of any consequence.” He relinquished dominance over the conversation as fatigue swept through his bones. “I trained my dear Adrianna far too well. She defeated the Kanima and unwittingly ruined my only chance of ever truly defeating my most fierce adversary.”

“Those kids are stronger than we all thought they were.” Alan agreed, turning the car down a route that Gerard wasn't familiar with, driving into the outskirts of Beacon Hills. “While their inexperience could kill them, their bravery and team-work managed to hand them their first victory.”

“No victory without sacrifice.” Gerard breathed fondly as he quoted from one of his favorite Roman proverbs. “The child within the Kanima was lost, as well.”

“They'll heal.” Deaton stubbornly insisted. “It's Adrianna I'm most worried about. She was the one who took Jackson's life. That kind of strength; if she's not careful, it'll tear her apart.”

Gerard waved a dismissive hand. “She's an Argent,” He supplied as his only response. “What you should concern yourself with from now on, is preparing these strays you've adopted for the threat which has yet to surface.” Gerard strategically advised.

Alan swallowed, avoiding Gerard's intense stare. The old man laughed, blackened tears ripping across his cheeks as the truth of the situation became known to him. “You have yet to inform them,” He understood, still chuckling as he uselessly wiped away the tar with his soaked linen cloth. “And I considered myself a vindictive man. But you, Alan, are far worse. At the very least, I've never denied my true nature.”

“They have a lot on their plates.” Alan pathetically excused. “School finals are in a month and Scott's grades are still terribly low. I was going to tell them when I knew they could handle it.”

Gerard sobered as the car pulled into what appeared to be a small, ratty line of motels. “Then you are an even bigger fool than I took you as.” He snarled as his destination finally became apparent. “No hunter I have ever met has been prepared to face one Alpha werewolf, let alone an entire pack of them.”

The car shuddered as Deaton parked. Glaringly bright and pathetically cheerful, the sign before Gerard's eyes felt as though it were a mile-marker leading straight to hell. Sunny Brooks, home for the disabled and elderly, was a vision straight out of Gerard's worst nightmares.

Alan smirked as though he could read every violent, deranged thought rushing through Gerard's mind. “These kids are better than your hunters. They're stronger as a pack.” He affirmed with confidence and certainty. “Scott will be able lead them against the coming threat.”

Lips turning into a murderous frown, Gerard felt his lower eyelid twitch as a muscle pulled beneath the strain of his ire. “You have deluded yourself, Deaton, if you think that a myriad collection of teenagers can stand against the unruly pack of mongrel Alphas. Even by my standards, their methods are cruel.” He insulted relentlessly. “To kill your own pack—your own family; there is no greater sin.”

“We still have time to prepare.” Alan brushed aside, unbuckling his seat-belt as a baggy-clothed, unimpressive, male nurse walked out of the rotten establishment and waited patiently outside their car. “You, on the other hand, have run out of time.”

Gerard felt his eyes widen and his heart-rate double as the nurse approached the car, opening his door with a mocking grin. “Welcome to the end of your life.” The sadistic man mockingly began. “Come on, Gramps, let's say hello to the inmates. You'll find plenty of friends here.”

He struggled against the younger man's strong grip, but couldn't find the power within himself to break free. He was defeated in every way possible. His body was broken, his spirit crushed, and his mind trapped within a prison.

As he was being rolled away in a wheelchair, straps holding his shaking limbs firmly in place, Gerard called out one last foreboding warning to Alan's retreating back.

“You will lead these children to their deaths, Alan!” He shouted hysterically as another nurse rushed out to assist the first, a syringe filled with clear liquid in her meaty hands. “Deucalion isn't coming, he's already here!”

Gerard cackled as the druid looked back over his shoulder at him, his expression one of utter terror and dread. A rush of satisfaction filled his veins before the world faded from sight.

He had been betrayed by those he had considered to be worthless pawns, but it no longer mattered. His family was torn apart, the seeds of resentment planted within both Argent heirs. One day, they would battle for the title, just as he had hoped.

Gerard could console himself and begin to lick his wounds because, despite the part-failure of his plan, he'd had the final word. He had laughed last, in death's very face.

In the end, sweet revenge would be his. Kate would not have died for nothing and the Kanima had not failed entirely. The game had not yet ended; it had only just begun...

**_Finis_ **


End file.
